


Dēbĭlĭto

by RadioactiveDeLorean



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Paralysis, Stangst, ah well, brain trauma AU, if you've seen this thing on Tumblr then you'd already know, whoops spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveDeLorean/pseuds/RadioactiveDeLorean
Summary: Dēbĭlĭto - to weaken, to disable, to incapacitate, to impair, to maim, to lame, to cripple, to paralyseFord had brushed his electrocution from Cipher under the carpet ever since Weirdmageddon. He had never told anyone what had happened to him, and he wanted to keep it that way. His health had been fine ever since the apocalypse ended. Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind.Brain Trauma AU Masterpost





	1. Set Sail

Seagulls cried out above their heads, circling over the deck and the coast as the two men walked along the pier. There was the occasional flap of a seagull’s wings as one flew too close, before letting out a squawk and flying off again. The old wooden planks beneath the men’s feet creaked a little as they walked, straining under their weight. Behind them, they could hear the crashing of the waves hitting the beach, accompanied by the laughter of young children playing in the surf. The sound reminded them of their niece and nephew over in California.

“Ah, there she is!” The larger of the two men, Stanley, pointed to a small wooden boat tied up at the side of the deck in front of them. Constructed of dark oak and the hull reinforced with carbon fibre, the boat bobbed up and down on the waves. A large, wooden mast stuck up out of the middle of the cabin, numerous aerials for radio and mobile signal attached with firm steel plating. A telescope was fixed to the front of the cabin roof, already aiming up towards the stratosphere. A red banner of paint ran around the edge of the boat, just above the surface of the water and below the railing. The words ‘Stan ‘O War II’ were painted on in block capitals with white paint.

Stanley’s twin brother grinned. “Finally. I thought we would never get her finished.” The second man, Stanford was considerably thinner than Stanley, though they were of identical height and age. Ford’s hair was not confined by a hat in the way Stan’s was, being whipped around by the ocean breeze. Ford took a deep breath as the twins approached their boat. Ford was the first to step onto the deck, offering his brother a six-fingered hand to help him on.

“I’m not that old Sixer.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I can still walk fine, you know.” He reached for the hand anyway.

“It was merely a gesture of kindness, Stanley.” Ford teased lightly, pulling his hand away before his brother could grab hold. Stan chuckled and stepped over the railing onto the deck of the boat. Almost immediately, the two men found themselves stumbling, their balance thrown off by the change in stability of the ground beneath their feet. Ford managed to get his balance back considerably easier than his brother. Stan ended up having to cling to the railing for support.

Ford crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow and smirked at his brother. He said nothing, only lifting up one leg, remaining perfectly balanced. Stan shot him a glare. “Oh quit bragging. You spent thirty years on the run, no wonder your balance is better than mine.”

Ford put his leg down and walked over to his brother, offering him a hand. “Come on, you want to have a look inside I take it?”

Stan rolled his eyes and took his brother’s hand. He found it easier to walk while holding onto Ford’s arm for support. Ford led him down the stairs and through the cabin door. They were immediately placed into the saloon of the ship. On one side was a small kitchen area fitted against the wall. A booth was opposite the kitchen area, the two small seats opposite one another, a small table in the middle, resembling booths in a diner. At the bow end of the cabin was a small closet for supplies, already loaded with long-life packaged foods such as tinned and dried goods.

A very small fridge-freezer stood beside the kitchen, being powered by the solar panels on top of the boat’s mast. It was barely the size of a hotel refrigerator, but it would certainly be enough for the two men. Beside the kitchen area were some cupboards, full of kitchen supplies such as pots, pans, cutlery, plates and bowls. The cupboards were floor-level. This meant that, should there be a storm and the boat was tossed around (a likely event, considering the size of the Pacific Ocean) the plates were unlikely to smash as they were not falling from a great height.

Behind the stairs leading up to the deck were two more doors. One of them led into a small bathroom, including merely a toilet, a small shower and a sink. The other door led into a bedroom complete with two small beds on opposite sides of the room, a small nightstand between them. A second closet stood opposite the bathroom door, loaded with clean clothes and various bits of scientific equipment, as well as general boat gear such as rope.

Stan went over to the booth and took a seat. “Well this is pleasant, and this seat is really comfortable.”

“It should be. We’ve got to be sitting there for a good few months.” Ford chuckled, taking a seat opposite his twin. “At least Fiddleford was able to set up the watermaker system so we can have fresh water for both drinking and for showering.”

“Knowing how sweaty you get in the summer, that’ll be a good thing.” Stan teased his twin gently, a playful smirk on his face.

Ford scoffed indignantly. “Excuse me, Stanley, but you sweat far worse than I do. It’s your weight, you see. It makes you overheat.”

“Oh shut up, Poindexter. I didn’t have _time_ to get all fit and healthy like you. I was too busy working!”

“I didn’t have much of a choice to get ‘all fit and healthy’, Stanley,” Ford smirked. “It was either run fast or die.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t the latter.” Stan leant over to tousle his brother’s hair.

Ford swatted his hand away. “Get off!” He flattened his hair down, attempting to undo the mess his brother had made.

Stan chuckled, folding his arms on the table. “Some things just don’t change, do they Sixer? You still hate having your hair messed up. Now I know where Dipper gets it from.”  
  


Ford scoffed as he managed to get his hair under control again. “It’s bad enough with the salty sea air messing it up without you too!”

Stan grinned and got up. “You should have bought a hat, then, Poindexter.”

“Stanley, you and I both know you didn’t pay for that hat.”

Stan gasped, putting a hand over his chest dramatically. “Me? _Steal?_ How could you ever think that?!”

“It’s still got the security tag on it,” Ford said simply, an amused grin on his face. “Where are you going?”

“To check out the bedroom.” Stan replied. Ford got up from his seat and followed his twin to the back of the boat to the bedroom. The beds weren’t quite normal size - they were a little narrower to leave enough space in the room to move around - but they were certainly long enough. Stan took a seat on the bed on the starboard side and Ford sat on the opposite bed. Stan flopped onto his back, his arms out above his head. “Oh yes, this is nice.” He grinned.

“These mattresses are very comfortable, I agree.” Ford kicked his boots off and laid down on his own bed with a content sigh. “Then again, after thirty years of sleeping wherever I could, I’d find anything comfortable.”

“The minute your butt touched my chair you fell asleep in it,” Stan said with a smirk. “You were out like a light.”

“Your weight on it over the years softened it.” Ford retorted. “No wonder it was so comfortable.”

“Make one more fat joke and you can _swim_ around the world,” Stan said bluntly, causing his brother to laugh. “I’m serious, Ford. I’ll make you follow me in your speedo.”

Ford snorted. “At least I can get away with wearing one, Stan. Something that can’t be said for someone your size.”

“Alright, that’s it!” Stan got up from his bed. “I warned you about the fat jokes.”

Ford sat bolt upright, scooting backwards on the bed away from his brother. “Oh come on, Stan. We both know I’m right.”

Stan simply grabbed Ford’s leg and pulled him forwards, scooping his brother into his arms to carry him in a fireman’s lift over one shoulder. Ford struggled and wriggled in Stan’s grip. “Stanley Pines if you don’t put me down right now I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what, Poindexter?” Stan smirked as he carried his brother out of the bedroom and up the stairs to the deck. “You’ll toss me overboard? I thought you couldn’t lift me since I was so fat?”

“STAN PINES PUT ME DOWN!”

“Alright alright, yeesh. Don’t get your sideburns in a twist.” Stan tossed Ford over his shoulder and put him down on the deck. Ford sat on the deck and crossed his arms, scowling at his brother. This only caused Stan to chuckle. “You look like some pouty kid who just got told off for stealing cookies outta the jar.”

Ford got to his feet, his arms still crossed and a scowl still on his face. “Well excuse me for not appreciating being carried around like a ‘pouty kid’ by my own brother.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “You’re just lucky I didn’t toss you overboard, Sixer. I will do next time, though. Especially if you keep making fat jokes.”

Ford unfolded his arms to punch Stan’s shoulder playfully. “You know I don’t care how big you are. You tease me about being smart, so it’s only fair I get to tease you about being fat.”

“Yeah but there’s a line somewhere, Ford, and as soon as you cross that line you’re going overboard,” Stan smirked a little, shoving Ford’s shoulder gently in return. “Come on, let’s go get our stuff from the car and load up.”

Ford smirked at his brother as he stepped over the railing back onto the pier, offering Stanley a hand in return. Stan accepted the help, allowing Ford to pull him up over the railing and onto the dock once more. Side by side, the two men walked back in the direction of the dockyard parking lot. The seagulls above them continued their cries, the sound bouncing off the sides of the boats surrounding them and ricocheting into the ocean.

“So, how long do you think we’ll be out there before we’ll need to restock?” Stan asked.

“Depends on how much we eat and how much equipment is either broken or lost to the waves,” Ford replied, humming in thought. “I’d say maybe two months at sea, towards the end of which we’d have to make sure we’re near to a port.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard, they’re dotted all along the West Coast,” Stan said. “Whereabouts do you think we’ll be by then?”

“Maybe near Canada or Alaska?” Ford shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Sounds good enough to me. I know there’s a pretty large port up in Anchorage.”

“That’s the place we’ll most likely be docking at, then.” Ford nodded as they approached the parking lot. The Stanleymobile was parked at the left side, the crimson paint glinting in the midday sun. It looked just as old and worn down as its owner.

Stan unlocked the car and opened up the trunk, digging out two of their suitcases. Ford dug some of the boxes of supplies out of the back seats of the car, setting them down on the ground beside the car. Stan shut the trunk again as Ford got out as many boxes as he could carry comfortably, before shutting the rear passenger doors. Stan locked up the car and picked up the suitcases. Ford lifted up the boxes and the pair made their way back to the boat.

It took roughly an hour and a halft to get everything from the car onto the boat and then to get everything put away properly. Ford sat on the edge of the railing, his legs hanging over the side of the boat. He had tossed his shirt aside, leaving him in a plain black T-shirt. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, removing his glasses to dry off the bridge of his nose to stop his glasses slipping off. Stan had removed his own shirt, leaving him topless. He leaned against the railing beside his brother, panting a little in the heat. Both of them were slightly red in the face. Luckily, Ford had insisted that they both put on copious amounts of sunscreen before leaving the house, so the risk of sunburn was minimal.

Stan checked his watch. “Weren’t the twins meant to come and see us off today?”

“Yeah, they were.” Ford nodded. “They should be here shortly since they left first thing this morning.”

Stan stretched his arms out above his head with a slight yawn. The heat had drained most of the energy from both men, leaving them feeling rather fatigued. Of course, both of them were far too stubborn to admit this and instead opted for walking around on the deck to keep themselves active. Before long, they heard two pairs of footsteps running along the deck towards them. Turning to look at the source of the noise, both men grinned upon seeing their niece and nephew running towards them.

“GRUNKLE STAN! GRUNKLE FORD!” Mabel cheered as she all but leapt over the railing, directly into Stan’s arms. Stan was knocked back a few steps by the force of the girl’s hug but was more than happy to return it with a chuckle.

“Heya pumpkin! It’s good seeing you again!” Stan grinned, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

A moment later, Ford had been tackled in a hug of similar strength by Dipper. The young boy giggled a little as Ford lifted him clear off the ground, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Ford grinned at the boy in his arms. “Glad you were able to make it!”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Dipper grinned, hugging Ford tightly in return. “We wanted to be able to see you before you left!”

“Trust me, we wanted the same thing kiddo.” Stan grinned, setting Mabel down on the deck. Mabel went over and hugged Ford tightly, once Ford had set Dipper down. Dipper, in turn, went and gave Stan a huge hug as well.

“Can we have a look around your boat before you leave?” Dipper asked with wide, curious eyes.

“Course, come on in!” Stan grinned, setting the boy down and gesturing for his nephew to follow him inside. Dipper followed Stan down the steps into the cabin, swiftly being followed by his sister. Ford remained out on the deck, enjoying the sunshine. At least, he remained outside until Mabel came back up on deck and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the cabin with her.

Dipper was looking at all of the scientific equipment in the box underneath the small kitchen table. Mabel let go of Ford’s hand in favour of having a look at the bedroom, allowing Ford to kneel beside Dipper. “Anything in particular that you’re wondering about?”

“This thing.” Dipper held up a small remote-control-like device, with what appeared to be a small satellite dish on one end, attached to an extensible rod.

“Oh, this?” Ford sat down on the floor beside him. “It’s called a subsurface echolocator. It allows us to hear signals from deep below the surface of the sea.”

“Whoa, that’s awesome!” Dipper grinned, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.

Ford chuckled at his childlike enthusiasm and took the boy’s hat off so he could ruffle his hair. “Sometimes I honestly wish I found things like this as interesting as you do,” he said, “but thirty years of coming across this stuff daily really wears off the fascination for such technology.”

Dipper giggled a little at the gesture. “So you saw stuff like this all the time?!”

“Yep, all sorts of weird and wonderful gadgets and machines that even a mind as imaginative as yours couldn’t even begin to come up with.” Ford chuckled. “Unfortunately, some of the time, such devices were aimed at me.”

Dipper frowned, hugging Ford tightly. “That must have been really scary.”

“It was rather terrifying at times, yes,” Ford admitted, returning the embrace, “but thanks to my brother, I no longer have to face such things.”

“Are you telling your nerd stories again, Sixer?” Stan called from where he was sitting on one of the beds, chatting with Mabel. “I thought you’d already told Dipper everything interesting!”

“At least my stories _are_ actually interesting, Stanley!” Ford retorted, earning an ‘ooooo!’ from Mabel.

Stan grumbled and got up, heading to where Ford was sitting on the kitchen floor. “I’ll have you know my stories are perfectly interesting!” He retorted.

Ford scoffed. “Not when you’ve told them a hundred times. I think I could recite the one where you escaped those drug traffickers from memory!”

“At least it’s better than adding ‘oh but in dimension XZ Alpha Q’ blah bah blah onto the end of everything anyone ever says!” Stan shot back.

“I do not do that!” Ford protested.

“Yeah you do,” both Mabel and Dipper giggled, causing Ford to blush red.

“I didn’t think I did…” Ford mumbled.

Stan chuckled. “You’re such a nerd, Poindexter.”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” Stan grabbed his brother and pulled him into a tight embrace, rubbing his knuckles over the top of Ford’s head and causing his brother to yelp.

“Hey! Geroff me!” Ford protested, wriggling in Stan’s grip.

“Nope!” Stan laughed. “Kids! Get him!”

As Ford was held in place by his brother, the twins promptly engulfed him in hugs of their own, making it impossible for Ford to go anywhere. Ford wriggled in an attempt to get free but found himself thoroughly trapped by his family’s hugs. “Guuyyys!” He whined. “No fair!”

Mabel giggled, moving so she was resting on Ford’s chest, hugging him around the neck. “It is so fair! You hug us all the time and we get trapped. Now it’s your turn!”

Ford whined again, trying to get free. Stan adjusted his hold on Ford so that Ford’s arms were pinned to his sides. He put his chin on his brother’s shoulder. “I thought you loved our hugs.”

“Yeah, I do, but not when you’re hugging me like this just to annoy me,” he pouted.

Mabel just giggled, kissing Ford’s cheek. “But we love you and we like hugging you!”

Ford wriggled again. “Well if you’ll let me go I’ll be able to reciprocate the hugs you love so much!”

Mabel and Dipper both let go of Ford while Stan kept a hold of him, simply releasing Ford’s arms but keeping his own arms around Ford’s middle. Ford rolled his eyes, before bringing the twins in for a hug. The younger pair of Pines twins eagerly returned the hug, huge smiles on their faces. Ford chuckled softly, more than happy to just stay like this for a little while. All of a sudden he didn’t want to go sailing and leave the twins behind, even though he knew they would easily be able to stay in contact with their grunkles via the online video messaging system on Stan’s laptop.

Stan checked his watch. “It’s almost time for us to set off,” he said. It was clear by his tone of voice that he didn’t want to leave just yet either.

“Aww…” Mabel pouted. “Can’t you stay a little while longer?”

“As much as we’d love to, this is something Ford and I have been looking forward to for our whole lives,” Stan said. “We’ll call you on the computer tonight, though. Promise.”

“Okay.” Mabel did seem to cheer up a little bit at that, sliding off Ford’s lap and standing up. Dipper let go of Ford as well and stood beside his sister, allowing the two older men to get to their feet. Ford was standing beside Mabel a moment later, while Stan found himself stuck on the ground, his old, worn-out body stuck in that position.

Chuckling, Ford offered his brother a hand up. “It’s a good thing one of us aged well, huh?”

“Oh shut up Poindexter,” Stan grumbled as he was helped to his feet. “Not everyone can be as fit and healthy as you, alright?”

“You would be if you quit eating pizza all the time and did some exercise.” Ford murmured under his breath, giving his brother an innocent smile.

Stan narrowed his eyes. “If that was another fat joke, I swear to _God_ Ford!”

Ford laughed, shoving his brother’s shoulder playfully. “I’m just teasing!”

“Well how about I tease you by tossing you into the sea?” Stan raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t stop himself from smirking at his brother’s antics as the kids giggled.

“You wouldn’t.” Ford stuck his tongue out, crossing his arms. “You care about me too much. Plus you need me around to keep the boat from falling into disarray.”

“I can manage just fine on my own, thank you very much,” Stan retorted.

“So that’s why the Shack was a mess and falling to pieces when I came back?” Ford smirked.

“That was only ‘cause that portal of yours essentially turned off gravity several times, causing everything to float up in the air and get destroyed!”

“Oh sure, always blaming everyone else. So the trash in the hallway and the state of your bedroom was caused by the portal, huh?”

“Oh shut up Poindexter.” Stan poked him in the ribs playfully. “The place was a tip when I first arrived anyway. I know you were fighting … _him_ , at that time but there was at least five years’ worth of mess there!”

“It was perfectly acceptable to have papers lying around. It was my own home and I was living on my own, so I didn’t have anybody around complaining about the mess. Apart from Fiddleford. He did bring the issue up once or twice towards the end of the portal’s construction process, when the piles of papers started to build up, but by then there was little point in cleaning the mess. Then he fell into the portal, caught a glimpse of what was going on and...you know the rest,” He finished hastily.

“Your mess was worse, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel piped up, grinning and giggling. “You left trash everywhere!”

“Only because I ‘was in my own house and didn’t have anybody around complaining about the mess’,” Stan retorted, sticking his tongue out at his brother.

Ford rolled his eyes. “You’re such a child, Stanley. I honestly think Mabel is more mature than you are sometimes.”

“She probably is.” Stan shrugged. “I won’t deny it.”

“Does this mean I can run the Shack for a day again?” Mabel asked.

“Not on your life you little gremlin.”

“Good, cause it was too much work.” Mabel pouted. “No wonder you’re so grouchy all the time.”

“I am not!” Stan protested indignantly. “I’ll have you know I can be rather joyful and a pleasure to be around, when I wanna be.”

Ford snickered. “Sure. Well, let’s just hope you want to be ‘rather joyful’ when we set off, otherwise I’ll go mad.”

“You’re already mad, Ford.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“And you call _us_ immature.” Dipper shook his head in mock exasperation, smirking a little. Both of his great uncles laughed.

“I know, hypocrites and all that.” Stan chuckled. “Now c’mon, we’d better get you two off the boat. We’re due to set off in about five minutes.”

“Awww…” Both of the twins whined. They had forgotten that the uncles were still meant to be setting out today. They had enjoyed spending this time with them and wanted to be able to stay longer, but they both knew that it was time for Stan and Ford to go.

“We’ll call you tomorrow evening, we promise,” Ford assured them.

“Alright,” Dipper nodded. He and his sister headed back up the stairs onto the deck, followed by Ford and Stan. The twins turned to face their uncles with wide grins. “Have fun out there.”

“I’m sure we will. Within a week we will have reached a major spot for a smaller breed of hydra that isn't a threat to humans. They grow to be maybe the size of a greyhound and feed off fish.” Ford said. “We should be able to get a lot of good photos.”

“Sounds cool!” Dipper grinned.

The two older Pines twins knelt down to give their niece and nephew a final hug goodbye. Mabel clung to Stan tightly, not wanting to let go just yet.

Stan chuckled. “Looks like someone doesn’t want us to go just yet. You’re going to have to stop hugging me eventually.”  
  


“This isn’t a hug,” Mabel said, causing Stan to frown.

“Oh yeah? Then what is it?”

“A chokehold!” Mabel swung her body around, her arms around Stan’s neck. She held him tight - not tight enough to actually choke him, but tight enough to prove that she was rather strong for her age.

Stan laughed, easily detaching the young girl and setting her down on the floor. “Alright, alright, you’ve proved your point ya little demon. Come on, off the boat. We’re setting off now.”

Both children sighed, reluctantly stepping away from hugging their uncles and climbing over the railing of the boat, dropping down onto the pier again. Stan headed up to the wheel to get the engine of the boat going. It roared to life, the engine thudding as it waited for more controls.

Ford stood at the railing, ruffling the twins’ hair one last time. “We’ll see you soon, we promise!”

“You better!” Mabel replied. “Cause if you miss that call I’ll be mad.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want my darling niece to be mad at me.” Ford gasped in mock horror.

Mabel giggled. “No, you don’t, otherwise I won’t make you any more sweaters!”

“I think ten sweaters is enough for now,” Ford chuckled. He hauled up the anchor, hoisting it out of the water and making sure the winch was locked into place. He turned to look at Stan, up on the bridge. “We’re all set!”

“Awesome!” Stan grinned. Both himself and Ford waved to the twins as he adjusted the throttle on the boat.

With a roar of the engine and a splash of water from the current caused by the propeller, the boat began moving out of the dock and into the open ocean. The twins ran along the pier, waving to them and shouting their goodbyes. Their great uncles did the same, Ford standing at the stern of the boat as he waved. The twins kept running along the pier until they reached the end, standing at the edge of the dock and waving as their grunkles’ boat got smaller and smaller. They only stopped waving once they weren’t able to see the individual shapes of Stan and Ford any more, before returning to their parents.

Ford joined his brother up on the bridge, taking a deep breath as the salty ocean air flowed through his hair and caused his clothes to billow outwards. The pair of them each pulled on a lifejacket as their boat sailed across the water towards the horizon and towards all sorts of mysterious creatures.


	2. Pins and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything seems to be going fine, apart from Ford feeling pins and needles in his legs more often than he would like. And is the vertigo he is experiencing really just due to the movement of the boat on the water?

The first few days of the brothers’ journey went rather smoothly. The weather stayed consistently pleasant and the sea stayed flat and calm, making sailing easy. As promised, they had called Dipper and Mabel in the evening of the second day at sea. The kids had grinned happily, asking them lots of questions about what they had found, what they had seen and where they were going next. Ford had explained that they hadn’t seen all that much yet, since they were still rather close to the coast and a lot of the more elusive creatures wouldn’t come that close to the mainland. Dipper’s questions seemed to focus more on what they were looking for, Ford’s research and the route they had planned. Mabel’s questions were much more orientated around whether or not they had ‘found any ladies’ yet, like Stan had been proclaiming. Ford had chuckled and said that no, they hadn’t, and that his brother was still very much a single man.

 

The pair were currently sitting at the table in the cabin, eating a plate of tomato pasta with a side of canned mushy peas. There wasn’t much else they could eat until they caught some fish, but neither of them minded all that much. After having gone thirty years eating whatever he could find, Ford found the simple meal almost a banquet, something Stan had found rather amusing.

 

“You seriously went a whole month eating nothing but dried biscuits and raw fish?!” He baulked as his twin explained one of the more difficult times during his thirty-year absence.

 

“Well, I had fresh water and the occasional piece of fruit, too, but yes, that was essentially my diet.” Ford nodded, talking casually as if telling Stan what the weather had been like as he ate his dinner. “It was enough to keep me on my feet, though eating raw fish that hadn’t been properly prepared is something I wouldn’t like to do again. It’s put me off eating sushi for life, I reckon.”

 

Stan chuckled. “Well, at least we’ll be able to cook whatever fish we catch while we’re out here.” 

 

“I sincerely hope so. There are terrible risks associated with eating raw fish.” Ford said. 

 

“Yeah, last thing either of us want is to get sick out here.” Stan raised his eyebrows as he sunk his teeth into another forkful of pasta. A stray drop of tomato ragu clung to his chin.

 

Smirking, Ford passed him a napkin. “Still missing your mouth when you eat, I see,” he chuckled. “It’s a wonder why you’re so big when more of it ends up down your front rather than in your mouth.”

 

“Shut up Ford.” Stan grumbled, wiping his mouth before chucking the napkin back at his brother. “What did I tell you about the fat jokes?”

 

“I’m just saying.” Ford shrugged with a smirk. “I only tease you because I care about you, you dork.”

 

Stan scoffed. “Don’t call  _ me  _ a dork, you nerd.”

 

Ford poked his tongue out at his brother. “You’re a dork, Stanley. Don’t bother denying it.”

 

Stan just rolled his eyes as he finished off his meal. “So what if I’m a dork? It’s better than being a nerd who constantly talks to himself when he’s working. Heck, you do it in the shower too,  _ and  _ in your sleep.”

 

Ford grumbled under his breath, blushing a little bit. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. I have to make sure we’re on course and that any creatures we may encounter are either harmless or ones we know how to deal with.”

 

“I have to make sure we’re on course and that the big mean sea monsters won’t hurt us.” Stan retorted in a high-pitched, teasing voice, making a talking motion with his hand. “I’m Ford and I’m a massive nerd, blah blah blah nerd words blah blah blah science I’m so smart because I have twelve PhDs blah blah blah!”

 

Ford narrowed his eyes and shot his brother a glare from across the table. “You just watch it otherwise you’re going overboard and you can swim after the boat. Maybe then you’ll lose some weight.”

 

“Oh that is  _ it,  _ Mister!” Stan shot up from the table and stormed over to his brother. 

 

Ford’s eyes went wide and he scooted back on the seat away from his twin. “Hey, Stan you know I’m just joking!”

 

Stan grabbed his brother’s leg, pulling him forward before lifting him up and wrapping his arms around him tightly. He pressed his hands against Ford’s sides, causing Ford to wriggle and fight his grip a little. Stan grinned mischievously before he started to tickle his brother.

 

Ford burst out into laughter, thrashing in Stan’s tight grip. “STA-HA-HAANLEEEYYY!” Ford practically screamed. “L-LEH-HET ME GO!”

 

Stan grinned even more, continuing his relentless assault. “Nope! I warned you about making all those fat jokes but you didn’t stop, so this is what you get!”

 

“STAN!” Ford wriggled in his brother’s arms, his chest aching from laughter. “G-GE-HET OFF ME!”

 

“I’m sorry, Sixer, what was that?!” Stan laughed, tickling his brother even more as Ford continued to writhe around in his arms. “Could you maybe repeat that?”

 

“PUT ME D-DOWN!” Ford spluttered and wheezed, torn between getting his breath back, struggling to get free from Stanley’s tickling and laughing so much. 

 

“Try asking again nicely!” Stan chuckled, although he did let up a little bit to allow his brother to breathe.

 

“P-please let me go!” Ford spluttered. 

 

“That’s better.” Stan let go of Ford and took a step back, crossing his arms and grinning at his brother. “See? Being polite is the way to go.”

 

“Y-you’re the biggest...fucking...hypocrite I’ve ever m-met…” Ford panted, his hands on his knees. He gasped for breath, taking a seat at the table again.

 

Stan chuckled, sitting opposite him once more. “You’re still just as ticklish as ever, Poindexter.”

 

“Yes, I  _ know,  _ Stan, you don’t have to prove it all the time.” Ford muttered. “I can’t exactly help being sensitive.”

 

“Aww, is my poor big bro sensitive?” Stan teased, pouting overly dramatically.

 

“I am when you’ve got your arms around me and you’re tickling me relentlessly!” Ford protested, blushing a little bit.

 

Stan sniggered at the expression on Ford’s face. “You know I only do it because it’s amusing.”

 

“It may be perfectly amusing to you but I find it quite irritating.” Ford grumbled, though he couldn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. While he hated the feeling of being tickled, it did make both of them happy. It always lightened Stan’s mood to see his twin giggle and laugh like a child whenever he was tickled. 

 

Stan rolled his eyes. “You’re just glad we’re not fighting anymore.”

 

“...alright, I won’t deny that.” Ford grinned sheepishly. “It’s good to have my brother back.”

 

“Hey, it’s good to  _ be  _ back, bro.” Stan grinned and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. “I can finally tease you again without having to think of who the heck you are or if you’re still mad at me.”

 

“Is  _ that  _ seriously your top priority?!” Ford raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you have better things to do with your life? I mean, I know you’re technically retired now, but still.”

 

Stan scoffed. “Oh you’re one to talk. All you ever did before you went missing was dumb school work, dumb college work and then dumb research. You’re the world’s biggest nerd.”

 

“Well that research  _ was  _ going to earn me a lot of money, until things… went wrong.” Ford pulled a face.

 

“Hey,” Stan reached across the table to squeeze one of Ford’s hands, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, because we dealt with him, we’re all safe and unharmed and he can’t get to any of us any more, especially you.”

 

“I know,” Ford smiled weakly in return. “I know that he’s gone, but thirty-two years of torment don’t get forgotten that easily. Unless of course I had some kind of device that allowed that to happen.”

 

Stan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Well, unfortunately, Mabel smashed it, so ya can’t just forget that all of that happened to you, as much as it might help.”

 

“No, it’s okay.” Ford shrugged. “If I forgot everything that had happened to me, I’d probably still be mad at you for the whole college incident. I’d likely end up being a completely different person. I’m willing to live with those memories if it means I can still be myself.”

 

“Geez, since when did you have a philosophy degree?” Stan teased. “I thought you were more of a scientist.”   
  
Ford rolled his eyes with a light chuckle. “I am, I’m just saying that the reason I am who I am now is because of all of that mess with … with  _ him.  _ If  _ he  _ and I had never crossed paths, I would likely have ended up living on my own forever studying all sorts of weird things. I may never have contacted you and it’s likely we may have never made amends.”

 

“Glad to know ya care about me enough to not wipe your memories,” Stan grinned, earning another light chuckle from his brother. “Now come on, let’s get these dishes done and we can go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

 

“You’ve barely done anything all day!” Ford protested. “You’ve just sat up on the bridge in the sun!”

 

“Exactly! The heat has made me tired!” Stan shot back with a slight smirk. “It’s getting late anyway and Lord knows you don’t sleep.”

 

“I  _ do  _ sleep, Stanley!” Ford said. “I just don’t sleep  _ much.” _

 

“Exactly, so you could do with a good night’s rest. Come on, pass me those plates and we can get them cleared away before we’re  _ both  _ going to bed.” Stan shot Ford a pointed look and gestured to the plates.

 

Ford rolled his eyes, passing his brother the dirty dinnerware before grabbing a tea towel. The pair washed and dried the dishes up before taking it in turns to have a shower. Before long, they were both in bed and were snoring quietly as the gentle rocking of the boat on the water had lulled them to sleep. 

 

___

 

When Ford woke up the next morning, his first thought was that he wanted to go back to sleep instantly. His second thought was that he needed coffee. Stan, it appeared, was already up, his bed empty. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and made a move to stand up. All of a sudden, his legs seemed to go numb beneath him and he fell back onto the bed with a yelp. He frowned a little, but brushed it off to simply being a little bit of pins and needles from being asleep for ages. He tried again to get up, only for his legs to stay numb. He ended up sitting on the bed, lifting his legs up slowly to try and regain the feeling in them.

 

Stan appeared in the doorway, a cup of coffee in his hands. “You alright?”

 

“Yeah, just got pins and needles,” Ford grinned sheepishly. After another moment or so, he was able to stand up again normally, though his legs were still a little bit numb. His head was spinning a little, giving him a vertigo feeling. He went to go and get himself some coffee and brushed the incident to the back of his mind. It didn’t matter any more. It wasn’t immediately affecting his health and it wasn’t causing him any pain, so it should be of no concern to him, right?

 

Ford essentially forgot about his difficulty getting out of bed until later that day when himself and Stanley were having lunch. Ford had been able to pick up his cutlery, carry his plate and eat rather easily. However, when he’d gone to pick up his glass of water, the glass had slipped through his fingers, tipped over on the table and spilled water all over the table.

 

“Ford!” Stan chided him gently as he went to get some paper towels. “You’re such a klutz at times, I swear.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ford said indignantly. “It slipped through my grip!”

 

“Well then maybe you should have held it a little more firmly.” Stan shot back as he mopped up the water. There hadn’t been much in the glass and there wasn’t anything on the table that could be damaged by the water, but it was still a little irritating. 

 

Ford huffed and went back to eating, shunting the accident aside to simply being that he hadn’t been focused on what he was doing. The rest of the day went without incident, the pair doing a bit of cataloguing after discovering a new type of extra large seahorse with bioluminescence before having a video chat with the twins. Naturally, as soon as they had mentioned the seahorses, Mabel was immediately fully engaged in the conversation, asking lots of questions with her eyes wide in awe and curiosity. 

 

“What colours were they?! How many did you see?! Were there any baby ones?!”

 

Ford chuckled. “Blue, purple, pink, yellow and green, we saw about twenty of them and yes, there were a few very small ones.”

 

Mabel squealed in delight. “You  _ have  _ to send us the photos and the videos you took of them!” She exclaimed.

 

Stan chuckled. “We will, once we get them off the camera and onto the laptop.”

 

“It sh-shouldn’t take t-too long,” Ford said. All three of the others gave him a concerned and questioning look. It took Ford a moment to realise that he had stuttered while talking. He blinked and coughed to clear his throat. “It shouldn’t take too long at all to get the photos and videos uploaded,” he repeated. His head was spinning just a little bit, not enough to be an annoyance but enough to notice.

 

“Are you feeling okay, Sixer?” Stan frowned, putting a hand on his brother’s back.

 

“I’m fine, Stanley,” Ford assured him with a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. Still g-getting used to life at sea.”

 

Stan chuckled, his concerns fading. “So am I, Poindexter.”

 

The conversation continued, drifting between topics rather frequently every time one of the kids asked a question about their sailing, or when one of the older Pines twins asked how school was going. None of them really batted an eyelid whenever Ford’s voice shook a little, though something kept nagging at the back of Ford’s mind to talk to Stan about it. He shunted those thoughts away, telling himself that he was overreacting and simply hadn’t gotten used to life on the boat just yet.

 

Eventually, the kids’ mother came in, telling them that they had to go to bed since they had school in the morning. The kids bid goodnight to their uncles and ended the video chat. Stan put the laptop away, making sure it had been left to charge, before going to tidy things up. Ford went to have a shower. The pair swapped over ten minutes later and Ford took over with the cleaning up while Stan showered. Before long, the pair were back in bed and fast asleep.

 

___

 

The next few days seemed to go smoothly. Ford didn’t wake up with any stiff joints or pins and needles and his voice was normal and free of any stuttering. It appeared that the few incidents had simply been one-off occasions. Since all three of them had happened on the same day, Ford shrugged them off, deciding that they were just due to a rough night’s sleep on a boat he wasn’t quite used to living on yet. Stanley never brought any of them up in conversation, so Ford figured Stan had brushed them off as well.

 

Stan, though he didn’t say anything about it, was a little concerned about Ford after those incidents. His brother seemed completely fine the next day, but still something hung around at the back of his mind, telling him to say something about it to Ford. He ignored the small voice, knowing that if something  _ was  _ wrong, Ford would tell him, right? Sure, the older twin was just as stubborn as the younger one, but if something came up that was a risk to Ford’s health, Ford would tell him about it, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t just leave it until the problem got so bad that he was hospitalized, or worse, right? Stan chuckled to himself. Ford would definitely tell him if something was wrong, and since he hadn’t done so, there was nothing to worry about. He was overthinking. Ford was fine. 

 

Ford himself was beginning to get a little concerned about those incidents, even though no more incidents occurred since that day. The dizziness, numbness and stuttering had come out of nowhere. The cause of the incidents was still bugging him, but he couldn’t work out what might have caused them. Pencilling them down as ‘haven’t gotten used to the boat yet’ was the easiest thing he could think of doing, but it didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel as though that was the reason that he’d been slightly dizzy that day, or that he’d had trouble getting out of bed. But since nothing else had happened since then, it can’t have been anything worth worrying about.

 

It wasn’t until a week later that anything else abnormal happened. Ford had been sitting down reading a book at the small table in the kitchen area, when Stan had called to him from up on the deck, wanting to check something with him. Ford had set his book down before moving to stand up. At that moment, the boat had swayed rather violently on a particularly strong wave, causing the cabin to rock forwards. All of a sudden, his legs had felt weak beneath him and he’d ended up falling face-first onto the floor. Stan had heard the noise and thought Ford had dropped something. He went down into the cabin to see if he was okay to find Ford sprawled on the floor, looking shocked and confused but thankfully unhurt.

 

“Oh geeze, are you okay?!” Stan quickly helped Ford to his feet. 

 

“I-I’m fine, Stanley,” Ford assured him, holding onto his brother’s shoulder for support. “That wave just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

 

“You sure?” Stan seemed concerned.

 

Ford offered him a reassuring grin. “Yeah, I’m fine, I promise. Just got knocked back when the boat moved.”

 

Stan chuckled. “Oh man, I know the feeling. C’mon, I need you to check these coordinates to make sure we’re heading the right way.” He led Ford up the steps and onto the deck, before walking around the boat to the bridge. The display on the panel next to the wheel displayed some coordinates, specifying their location, along with their current bearings and speed, how warm it was, the wind speeds and the humidity. Everything seemed normal.

 

Ford checked the coordinates on the panel and compared them to the ones he had written down in his notebook. “It seems like we’re on track, although you might want to change the bearing to 337 instead of 330, otherwise we’ll end up too far West.”

 

“Alright,” Stan nodded. He grabbed hold of the wheel and turned it clockwise until their bearing matched the ones written in Ford’s notebook. 

 

“That’s better, thanks,” Ford shot his brother a grin, which Stan was all too happy to return. 

 

“So how long until we reach the spot we’re heading towards?”

 

Ford did a rough mental calculation. “I’d say a few days maybe? If we keep going at the speed we’re going at now and provided the weather stays calm, we should reach it by the end of the week.”

 

“Cool,” Stan hummed, making sure the wheel was fixed in place before heading back into the cabin. Ford stayed up on deck for a little while, sitting down in one of the chairs up there, just relaxing for a bit. He ended up dozing off on the deck, snoring quietly.

 

Stan came up to get him at around half past five in the evening so he could help him with the dinner. Ford moaned a little bit at having been woken up, but his empty stomach persuaded him to get up and go back down into the cabin to help with the cooking. They ended up having leftover fish stew for dinner since neither of them could be bothered to cook anything from scratch, especially since their ingredients were fairly limited anyway. 

 

Neither of them really talked much during dinner, aside from a few questions about where they were headed and what they could expect to find there, along with how far from the nearest port they were in case they needed any supplies. When they had finished eating, Ford washed up the dishes while Stan went to make sure everything on the deck was secured before turning the boat’s engine off. The younger twin lowered the anchor before heading back inside and shutting the cabin door, locking it firmly. 

 

The air around the boat fell silent. This part of the sea was too far from land for pretty much all sea birds, so the air was free of their calls. The only sounds that were around were the noises of the two men shuffling around in the small cabin, the water lapping against the sides of the boat and the gentle whistle of the wind outside. Ford and Stan each sat and read books for about an hour or so, after which Stan proclaimed that he was too tired to keep awake much longer and retired to bed. Ford stayed up quite a while longer, long after his brother had fallen asleep.

 

As he was left alone to his thoughts, Ford found that his mind drifted back towards those incidents with the slight problems working his body. He’d had plenty of sleep since the first incidents, yet only earlier today had he fallen over. He’d felt his legs turn numb underneath his weight before he’d toppled over. Sure, there had been a particularly rough wave at the time which had caused the boat to rock, but that had happened before and he’d stayed on his feet just fine. Maybe he  _ had  _ just been caught off guard. Or maybe he hadn’t, and there was something else wrong with his body. 

 

Ford shook his head to clear those thoughts away. That couldn’t be the case, surely? If it was, he would have seen something else by now. Something drastic would have happened to him if something was  _ really  _ wrong with him. He couldn’t afford to think like that, anyway. They’d only been at sea just under two weeks and like Hell either of them were going to call it quits so early on just because one of them wasn’t feeling so great. Ford knew how much Stan loved being out here. It was obvious from the way his eyes lit up as he scanned the ocean, the way a grin spread across his face every time he stood behind the wheel, the way he quietly hummed to himself as he walked about up on the deck. Yeah, Stan loved being out here and there was no way Ford was going to take this away from him. They’d both dreamed of this adventure, after all.

 

Sighing, Ford set his book down on the table and got up. Once again, his legs flared up with pins and needles before going numb, causing him to have to sit back down again until the feeling returned to his legs. He curled his toes a little and rolled his feet in his ankle joints. Before long, the regular blood flow was established again and he stood up without any problems. This was starting to bug him a little. Then again, he  _ had  _ been sitting rather awkwardly on the seat as he read, so maybe that was the cause of his legs’ sudden numbness. He shook his head again and went to take a shower. 

 

As the heated water flowed over his body, Ford shut his eyes to let himself relax a little. When he opened them again, he saw small coloured spots dancing in the corners of his vision and his head spun as if he’d just been turning around in circles rather quickly. He stumbled a little and stood with his hands pressed against the shower wall, his head lowered. “Urgh…”

 

The vertigo sensation thankfully passed after a few moments and Ford was able to rinse himself off without another dizzy spell. He turned the shower off and got out, drying himself off slowly and carefully in case he triggered another vertigo attack. It was peculiar that he kept having them, since he had never experienced motion sickness before now and had spent long periods of time in places that had ground a lot less stable than the boat they were on currently. He wasn’t anaemic, as far as he was aware, and he wasn’t sick, so there didn’t seem to be any logical explanation as to why he would get dizzy so frequently.

 

Ford sighed and changed into some clean pyjamas before making sure everything in the bathroom was cleared up. He folded the towel and set it on the side to dry off overnight before turning the lights off. He crept across the small cabin hallway and gently opened the door to the bedroom. Stan was still fast asleep, snoring quietly. Ford crept in as quietly as he could, shutting the door behind him before climbing into his own bed. He slipped his glasses off and set them down on the small chest of drawers between the two beds. As soon as he laid his head down on the pillow, Ford was fast asleep. 


	3. Just sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford's symptoms begin to get worse. He insists that he's just a little ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this thing took forever to write! I've had it partially completed since the last one went out, but writer's block has been a major b!tch over the summer. I told myself, at the beginning of the summer, that I'd get at least two or three more chapters of this thing uploaded, and I'm only just uploading the first!
> 
> Don't hate me.

Stan was woken up the next morning by the sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. He shut his eyes again for a few more blissful moments of rest, the gentle rocking of the boat almost lulling him to sleep once more. That was until he heard the sound of violent retching coming from the small bathroom next to the bedroom.   
  
The younger Pines twin shot out of bed and rushed over to the bathroom, finding his brother kneeling hunched over the toilet bowl, vomiting his guts out. Ford’s whole body was drenched in cold sweat and he was shivering like mad. Ford’s eyes were watering furiously and his hair looked as though a bird had tried to nest in it.    
  
Stan knew that trying to talk to Ford right now would be pointless, so he simply went and retrieved a glass of water from the small kitchen, along with some aspirin. He stood by the door, waiting until the sounds of Ford’s retching had stopped.   
  
It was a solid ten minutes before Ford finally pulled away from the toilet, sitting with his back against the shower door, shakily reaching a hand towards the roll of toilet paper so he could wipe his mouth. Another hand beat him to it, tearing off a few squares and scrunching it into a ball before wiping Ford’s mouth for him.

 

“S-sorry I woke you, S-Stanley…”

 

“You didn’t, the seagulls did,” Stan murmured, kneeling on the floor next to his brother. He made sure Ford’s mouth was clean before tossing the toilet paper into the bowl, flushing away the mess. He passed Ford the glass of water and the aspirin. “Here, this’ll help with the headache.”

 

“I’ve t-taken aspirin before, S-Stan…” Ford rolled his eyes, placing the small pill on his tongue before swallowing it with a mouthful of water. Shutting his eyes, Ford lay his head against the cool glass of the shower door and breathed a small sigh.    
  
“Oh no, you’re not sleeping on the bathroom floor, mister,” Stan shook his head. “Come on, up.”   


Ford whined quietly and curled up a little. “I don’t w-want to move…”

In one fluid movement, Stan slipped his arms underneath Ford’s frame and lifted him up, carrying him back into the bedroom and dumping Ford onto his bed. “There, you didn’t have to move.”

Ford blushed and yelped as he hit the mattress, bouncing a little as his body hit the bed. “Hey!”   
  
“What?” Stan crossed his arms. “You weren’t going to move on your own so I helped you.”   
  
“Th-that wasn’t n-necessary Stanley,” Ford muttered, flinching a little at the light stammer in his voice. 

Stan frowned, but simply put the stammering down as a result of Ford being cold. He wrapped a spare blanket around his brother’s shoulders. “You’re freezing, Stanford. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep,” Ford nodded, curling up into a ball underneath the mound of blankets piled on his bed. “Just peachy.”

Stan raised an eyebrow and began to dig through the set of drawers in between the two beds. He pulled out a small flashlight. “Ford? I need you to look at me.”   
  
Ford groaned and unburied his head from the blankets, his hair even more of a frazzled mess now than it had been before. “What?”   
  
Stan slipped Ford’s glasses off and held one of Ford’s eyes open before shining the flashlight directly into it before Ford had the chance to move.   
  
Ford yelped and pulled away, shutting his eyes. “Stan! W-what the heck?!”   
  
Stan pulled Ford back, opening his other eye and shining the light into it. Both of Ford’s pupils had shrunk in response to the light, indicating that Ford wasn’t concussed. Satisfied, Stan put the light away.   
  
Ford blinked several times, trying to remove the distracting after-images from his vision. “What the h-hell was that for?”   
  
“Checking to see if you have a concussion since you’re stuttering a little,” Stan replied, sitting down on the bed beside his brother. He ran a hand through Ford’s hair, setting Ford’s glasses down on the set of drawers between the beds. “Still feel sick?”   
  
“A - a little,” Ford admitted quietly, laying his head down on the pillow and shutting his eyes. “It’s m-mostly just my stomach hurting…”   
  
Stan nodded, still frowning. “Well, you just get some more rest, okay? Get up whenever you want to.”   
  
Ford nodded slowly, his eyes screwed shut tightly. He was curled up into a rather tight ball and it reminded Stan of the way Mabel had been when she’d had a stomach ache after eating packets upon packets of that expired ‘Smile Dip’ substance she’d found at that old convenience store. The younger twin sighed and stood up, leaving a fresh glass of water on the chest of drawers before turning the light off. He shut the door as he left the room, leaving Ford to get some sleep.    
  
Stan didn’t see his brother again until almost two in the afternoon. When Ford finally emerged from the bedroom, he was just as pale as before, if not more so. His hair was still a frazzled mess and his eyes were a little bloodshot. He seemed to be trembling slightly. “M-morning, Stanley…”   
  
“Afternoon, Ford. It’s almost two o’clock,” Stan said, setting his book down. “Now I  _ know _ you’re not feeling well.”   
  
“I j-just need some coffee,” Ford murmured, stumbling over to where the kettle sat on top of the cooker by the window. 

Stan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the chair. “Oh no, mister, you sit down. I’ll get you the coffee.”

Ford huffed. “I’m n-not a child, Stan. I can g-get my own coffee.”

“Oh, can you?” Stan crossed his arms after putting the kettle on to boil. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re ready to pass out again. You’re still stuttering a little, by the way.”

“I know,” Ford murmured. “It’s p-probably just due to b-being sick.”

Stan didn’t look convinced by this. He sat down opposite his brother, placing one of his hands over Ford’s. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Stanford?”

Ford shook his head slowly. “No, w-what do you mean?”   
  
Stan squeezed his twin’s hand. “Is there anything you know about why you’re stuttering that you’re not telling me?”

“I - no,” Ford shook his head again. “I t-told you, Stan, it’s c-cause I’m sick.”   
  
Stan opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the kettle whistling cut him off. He sighed and got up to make his brother a cup of coffee. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Ford blinked as his stomach growled, before nodding sheepishly. “Yes please.”   


Stan smirked a little as he set Ford’s coffee down on the table in front of him. “Lucky for you, I’ve just made some mixed bean casserole with some of the tinned beans from the cupboard. It should still be warm, but I’ll just stick it back on to heat up.”   
  
“Th-thank you,” Ford smiled as he sipped his coffee. Inside, he felt sick. There was something wrong with him and he knew it - he was just trying his best to assure Stan that he was fine, despite the voice telling him otherwise. He drank the coffee slowly with a shaking hand as he watched his brother reheat the casserole. His mind was buzzing with possible diagnoses for his symptoms. Maybe he’d hit his head on something hard enough to concuss him? No, Stan had already checked his eyes and his pupils had constricted and dilated as normal. Maybe some sort of illness? That would explain why he’d been sick this morning, but didn’t fully explain the stutter. It also didn’t explain why he was shaking so much. He didn’t feel cold. Maybe arthritis? Parkinson’s, maybe? That would certainly explain the inhibited movement and his stutter, but not the dizziness. 

Ford was snapped out of his thoughts by the arrival of a plate of food on the table in front of him, accompanied by a knife and fork. Stan sat across from him once more, a concerned expression etched into his face. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re okay, Ford?”   
  
Ford glanced down at his food. “I’m f-fine, Stanley,” he insisted as he picked up his cutlery and began to eat rather ravenously.

“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with your appetite, considering you puked this morning,” Stan chuckled. “I guess it’s just the fact you’re not quite used to being out at sea, yet, huh?”   
  
“Y-yeah, something l-like that,” Ford chuckled softly as he swallowed a mouthful of the casserole mix. “I’ll be b-better in a few days’ time.”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Stan spoke in a quiet, concerned voice. “I can’t have you acting like this for the full two months that we’re out here, otherwise I’m turning this thing around and we’re heading right for the nearest port, capiche?”

Ford rolled his eyes, his loaded fork halfway to his lips. “Yeah, y-yeah, I’ll be f… fine.” He stuffed the forkful into his mouth.    
  
Stan raised an eyebrow at the way Ford had paused before finishing his sentence with that simple word. Ford caught his gaze and immediately dropped his eyes back to his food again as he continued to eat. The younger twin could tell that Ford was hiding something from him; he just didn’t know what. Sighing, Stan rose from his seat and went up onto the deck. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Ford pulled a small notepad out of his pocket and set it on the table beside his plate. He pulled out a pen as well, jotting a few things down onto one of the pages. Several of the pages had a possible diagnosis in the middle, surrounded by small notes linking his symptoms to it. One or two of the diagnoses had been scribbled out after Ford found that his symptoms didn’t match with the diagnosis. He added a few more notes to the bubble surrounding ‘Parkinson’s disease’ on one of the pages, frowning as he looked at his handwriting.

For years, Ford’s writing had always been immaculate. It was almost as if it had been typed up on a computer. Now, though, it was slowly getting worse. He found that the simple act of holding a pen and writing his name was getting more and more difficult and his writing had devolved into chicken scratch. He hated that it was like this, but couldn’t figure out why. Most of the signs seemed to point towards developing Parkinson’s disease. The shaking, the loss of balance, impaired movement and stuttering were all symptoms. The sickness, however, was not. 

That evening, Ford and Stan had promised the kids they would call them over the laptop. They sat in the bedroom, Stan’s laptop perched on the side table between the beds. The twins sat on Ford’s bed as Stan sent a video request through to Dipper’s account.    
  
It was only a few seconds before Dipper’s face appeared on the screen. “Grunkle Stan! Great Uncle Ford! Good to see you guys!”   
  
Both the older Pines twins grinned. “Hey kiddo, how are ya?” Stan asked. 

“Great, actually!” Dipper said. “I won a contest in Physics!”   
  
“Th-that’s my boy!” Ford cheered, trying his best to hide the stutter in his voice. He kept his hands out of view of the camera, knowing that they were shaking. “What was the c-contest for?”   
  
“We had to design a poster about being safe around radiation and I won first prize! The teachers took my poster in and they’re gonna put it up on the wall of the classroom!”   
  
“That’s g-great!” Ford exclaimed. 

“You really take after this nerd, huh?” Stan asked while ruffling Ford’s hair, causing Dipper to laugh and his twin to swat his hand away. 

“S-Stanley!” Ford whined. “Quit it!”   
  
Dipper giggled again as his sister appeared on the screen beside him. “Grunkles!!” She squealed, moving closer to the camera so that all Ford and Stan could see was her face. “How are you guys?!”   
  
“We’re fine, cupcake,” Stan chuckled. “Now why don’t you let your brother talk as well?”   
  
Mabel groaned comedically loudly and pulled back from the camera, sitting down next to her brother. “F _ iiiine,”  _ she rolled her eyes. 

Dipper shook his head, an amused smirk on his face. “So Grunkle Ford, are you feeling any better?”

“A - a little,” Ford shrugged. “Still k-kinda sick.”   
  
“He threw up this morning,” Stan replied flatly. “He’s still ill.”

Both of the kids frowned. “Don’t you have any medication on board that might help?” Dipper asked softly.

Stan nodded, casting a sideways glance at his brother. “We do, but one of the stubborn old men on this boat won’t take any.”   
  
Ford rolled his eyes. “If I could s-survive sickness without medication while lost in the Portal, I’ll b-be fine now.”   
  
“Ahuh, say that to your stomach contents now floating around in the sea,” his brother retorted. 

Ford rolled his eyes again and turned his attention back to the children on screen. “I’m fine, k-kids, I swear. Just a little thrown off b-by the movement of the boat.”

Dipper seemed satisfied with that explanation and moved the topic of the conversation back towards school. He talked mostly about his science and mathematics classes until Mabel claimed her brother was being boring and switched the focus of the chat towards their great uncles again. 

“So have you guys found any more cool stuff?”   
  
Stan shrugged and shook his head. “Not really. Ford thought he saw one of those miniature Hydras we were talking about, but it was just a baby whale.” He glanced at his brother. “Looks like your eyesight is failing you, Poindexter. Might have something to do with the crack in your glasses.”   
  
Ford pouted. “There’s n-nothing wrong with my glasses!” He insisted. “I c-can see just fine. The whale j-just looked like a hydra from under th-the rippling water.”   
  
“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked softly. “You’re stuttering more now. Are you  _ sure  _ you’re alright?”   
  
“I’m okay, sweetheart, I p-promise,” Ford nodded, giving her what he hoped was a convincing smile. In truth, he wasn’t fine at all, but he couldn’t let his niece know that. “J-just need some more rest.”   
  
“Ford, you’ve slept basically all day,” Stan said, shooting his brother a deadpan expression. “You’re worse now than you were  _ before  _ the rest! You’re not fine - we can all see that you’re not.”   
  
“I really am f-fine, Stan,” Ford insisted. “Just s-sick. I mean, I threw up earlier, d-didn’t I?”   
  
“I guess,” Stan murmured, still unconvinced. He decided to drop it for the kids’ sake. “So how long until you’ve got a break from school?”   
  
“Still a good few weeks,” Mabel pouted. “We’ve got so much homework now that we’re in the last year before high school.”   
  
“I thought you were excited about high school?” Stan teased. “You wouldn’t stop going on about it.”   
  
“Yeah, but then Wendy told me it was really bad and now… I’m kinda nervous.”   
  
“Oh come on kiddo, you can handle it,” said Stan. “I mean, that’s nothing compared to fighting Bill, right?”   
  
At the mention of the demon’s name, Ford felt an icy chill rush down his spine and Dipper seemed to go pale, subconsciously holding his sister’s hand in a vice-like grip. Ford’s eyes seemed to glaze over as the memory of the demon’s shrill laughter echoed through his head, bouncing off the metal plate in his skull and hitting every nerve in his brain. His whole body seemed to lock up completely.    
  
The others called out to him, trying to snap him out of it, but Ford was unresponsive. All he could hear was the demon’s laughter; all he could see was that sickening blue energy and the vivid yellow flooding the eyes of everyone he was looking at. It was only when he felt a warm, firm hand on his shoulder that he finally snapped out of it, shaking his head. His ears were ringing and everything seemed a little fuzzy, three voices slowly breaking through the haze.    
  
“Grunkle Ford?”   
  
“Great Uncle Ford are you okay?”   
  
“Come on, Poindexter, it’s alright.”   
  
Gradually, Ford was brought out of the flashback and back into reality again, though he was still shaking a little bit. Part of him hoped that the shaking was just from fear. He took a few deep breaths and gradually regained his composure. By the time he’d recovered, his brother, niece and nephew were all giving him concerned looks. 

“I’m okay,” Ford said quietly. “J-just don’t say  _ his  _ name again, p-please…”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Stan sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you remember him.”   
  
“It’s okay, just d-don’t say it again,” Ford let out a shaky breath. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and looked at the computer screen, noticing Dipper seemed a little spaced-out himself. “Dipper?”   
  
“I-I’m okay, Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper murmured. “I … I don’t like  _ him  _ either.”   
  
Mabel hugged her brother tightly. “It’s okay, Dip-Dop, I’ll protect you from the memories.”   
  
“And I’ve got your back, Poindexter,” Stan grinned, hugging his own brother tightly, much to Ford’s chagrin. 

“Staaaan,” Ford whined, trying to push his brother off him but with little to no real effort. He wouldn’t admit that he actually liked getting hugs, especially from his twin. “G-get off me!”   
  
“Fine,” Stan ruffled Ford’s hair and pulled away from him. “Big bro doesn’t like being embarrassed in front of the niblets.”   
  
“It’s n-not that,” Ford said. “It’s just that you n-need a shower. You stink.”

“Hey!” Stan pushed Ford playfully. “You’re worse than I am, you nerd. You’ve been in bed all day, lying in a cocoon of your own body odour!”   
  
Ford rolled his eyes as the kids giggled in the background. “I’m n-not the one who’s b-been outside all d-day, in the sun.”   
  
“I’m a big guy, Ford, I get sweaty.”   
  
“Maybe you w-wouldn’t if you lost s-some weight,” Ford teased. 

“Oh come on!”

Ford chuckled as Mabel burst into a fit of laughter. “But Grunkle Ford! That means there’s more there to love!”

“Yeah!” Stan agreed, sticking his tongue out at his brother. “See? Mabel gets it! Atta girl, pumpkin!”   
  
Mabel beamed at her younger uncle as Ford just rolled his eyes again. “You’re b-both as bad as one an-another.”   
  
“Good!” Stan smirked. “At least  _ someone  _ has inherited my silver tongue!”   
  
Ford rolled his eyes. “How the h-hell was I supposed to inherit that f-from you?”   
  
Stan shrugged. “Inheriting things can come from just being around people, you know.”   
  
Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re h-hopeless, Stanley.”   
  
Stan just smirked. “I know.”   
  
Dipper opened his mouth to add something until a faint call in the background could be heard. The teen sighed. “Our mom says we gotta go to bed now and turn the laptop off. We’ll call you two later, okay?”   
  
“Alright kiddos, see you later!” Stan grinned.    
  
Both of the kids waved before their screen went blank. Stan turned their own laptop off and put it away, leaving Ford still sitting on his bed. The older twin’s eyes were hurting and he felt fairly nauseous, something he told himself was a result of staring at a computer screen in a dark room. 

“You alright there Ford?” Stan asked, glancing over his shoulder at his rather bewildered looking brother. 

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” Ford nodded, blinking slowly as his vision greyed out for a moment. Pulling his glasses off, Ford rubbed his eyes in an attempt at getting his vision to return to normal.    
  
“If you say so,” Stan shrugged. “Try and get some sleep. It might help with the nausea. I usually get dizzy after being on a computer for a little while.”   
  
Ford opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again and just nodded, slowly getting up off the bed. He grabbed some pyjamas and went into the small bathroom. As he tried to get undressed, he found his arms suddenly feeling heavy and lethargic. His hands were shaking a little and he couldn’t seem to be able to move his fingers at all. It was as if he had been laying on his arms and they’d gone numb. He could move his shoulders, still, but anything further down was completely useless.    
  
Gradually, Ford regained the feeling in his fingertips, then his hands, then his arms. It took a full ten minutes of slow movements before he was finally undressed. He turned the water on and got into the shower.    
  
“What took you so long?!” Stan asked once Ford stepped out of the bathroom. “You were like half an hour!”   
  
“I only t-took,” Ford glanced at the clock - he really  _ had  _ taken half an hour, “...oh. Well, I’m s-sorry.”    
  
Stan sighed and threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. “Just go get some sleep. You look like you need it. Do you feel any better?”   
  
“A - a little,” Ford nodded, making his way across the hall and into the shared bedroom. He heard the bathroom door close shortly after he’d climbed into bed. After setting his glasses down on the side table, Ford lay flat on his back and gazed up at the ceiling. His head was still spinning and his vision continued to fade in and out of a grey blur every few minutes. His arms still felt awfully heavy and his fingers had gone numb again. He attempted to grab hold of the bedsheets, but simply felt the fabric slip through his weak grip.   
  
Stanford sighed quietly and shut his eyes. It had to be exhaustion. That was the only explanation he could come up with. He’d been like this before, back in college. He’d work himself until two or three in the morning and then find himself unable to hold a pen for two days straight. Fiddleford always had to get him to go to bed no later than eleven. It wasn’t like he’d been doing much today, though. He’d slept all morning, for one, and he’d just been sitting around reading a book for the majority of the afternoon.    
  
Ford forced himself to think of something else. He knew that if he kept thinking about this before bed, he’d never sleep. Letting out a deep breath, he thought back to when himself and Stanley were children, running up and down the beach while their mother laughed in the background, amused by the twins’ antics. He could hear Stan calling to him and smiled, gratefully chasing after his brother and drifting off to sleep in the process.


	4. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford's symptoms get worse and worse, eventually resulting in a particularly embarrassing accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is pretty much where it goes from bad to worse for Ford. If you've read the notes for the Brain Trauma AU from Tumblr, you'd already know that this was coming.

Over the next few days, Ford tried harder and harder to disguise his symptoms from his brother. Every morning, his legs felt numb and heavy, his feet tingling. It took him at least ten minutes to even find the strength to speak, let alone move. It was becoming a serious problem at this point. But he couldn’t admit to anyone what was happening. He couldn’t let anyone know what was wrong with him. If he did, Stan would call their voyage off and they’d go home. He couldn’t afford to have Stan abandon his lifelong dream after such a short amount of time, and because of his own twin. He couldn’t ruin this for Stan after already causing him so much harm.   
  
So Ford continued to pretend that everything was alright. He continued to act like he  _ wasn’t  _ losing the feeling in his arms and legs and that he  _ could  _ speak just fine, he was just tired and dizzy. He knew that Stan wouldn’t put up with this for very long, but he had to hope that it was at least long enough for the pair to fulfil their journey. If he was honest, he didn’t want to leave either, but he was beginning to believe that it would be best if he returned home where he could get a proper diagnosis of his symptoms. 

Of course, it didn’t take long at all for Stan to cotton on to what was happening. He didn’t ignore the way that his brother struggled to say ‘good morning’ to him, or the way he could barely stand up on his own without having to grab hold of something and move slowly. He’d never missed the way his brother’s legs would lock up completely at the hips, making him feel as though he had been lying on them at an awkward angle. Or the way Ford struggled to get his breath back after the simplest of tasks.

Stanley, while he never said anything about it, was aware of how Ford’s symptoms were getting worse and worse. He wasn’t an idiot. He could tell that Ford was having trouble walking but knew that Ford would just deny it or come up with empty excuses if he ever mentioned it to his twin. Stan just hoped that these symptoms would gradually start to improve before they eventually went away altogether.  

They didn't, and Stan only found himself getting more and more worried. It got to the point where Ford was clearly struggling to hide it from his brother and his excuses wore thinner and thinner, each word more slurred and incoherent than the last. Ford had started skipping the twins’ calls, using some excuse to not be there, such as he was having a shower or finishing writing up some of his research. The twins always asked if he was okay. Stan had to assure them that his brother was fine, even when he knew better.   
  
And so the cycle continued. Ford would try to move as little as possible to try and hide his worsening symptoms, while his brother pretended to not notice Ford’s suffering. Both of the elder Pines twins would do their best to hide it from Dipper and Mabel, knowing that they would only scare them if the kids found out how bad Ford’s symptoms were getting. It was rough for both men and both of them would have preferred it if they didn’t have to go through it, but they persisted nonetheless. Stan knew that Ford was struggling and most of him wanted to talk to his brother about it. Most of him wanted to help. The rest of him, however, was scared of the truth and it was this part of him that held Stan back from helping his twin. 

Ford knew that his brother knew. He knew that his brother was completely aware of how hard it was for him to do anything. (Honestly, if Stan hadn’t realised what was going on at this point, Ford would have been surprised). Ford knew that it would be best if he discussed his symptoms with his brother, but he couldn’t. He was so scared that his symptoms were of something far worse that he just kept silent and kept ploughing on the best he could. He was so scared of learning that he was going to be like this for the rest of his life that he just didn’t say anything, hoping that the denial would keep him safe. 

It didn’t.

Ford’s symptoms seemed to grow worse exponentially, getting more severe each day. His legs would lock up from the moment he woke, making it a good ten-minute struggle to even get out of bed. His hands grew weaker, making it almost impossible for him to hold a cup of coffee or to write with a pen. His voice became more and more slurred. He formed the sentences perfectly in his head - he just couldn’t move the muscles of his mouth enough to produce them verbally. It felt as though he was trying to move something that wasn’t there as if his vocal chords had gone limp and numb. Sometimes, he would even skip meals just for the sake of not having to show his struggling in front of his brother. His body was shutting down on him, becoming nothing more than a useless lump of muscle, bone and skin. 

The one thing Ford never lost was his train of thought. He was fully alert and awake the whole time, making him painfully aware of the way his body was failing him. He had the mental ability to move his body - it was just the fact that the connections between brain and muscle had weakened and severed completely in some places, making him feel like a pilot who had lost almost all control of his aircraft, sending him plummeting towards the surface of the Earth. He felt trapped. He desperately wanted nothing more than to talk to his brother, but by this point, his symptoms were far too bad for him to be able to say a word.    
  
Before long, Ford stopped talking to the twins whenever they called. He’d stay in his room, or in the bathroom, or up on deck so that he wasn’t so much as in view of the camera while Stan spoke to them. Of course, Dipper and Mabel, being the bright young teenagers that they were, quickly noticed that Ford was avoiding them and grew more and more worried. They kept asking Stan if Ford was alright, where he was, what was wrong with him. Stan’s excuses, claiming that Ford was just showering, he was asleep, he was steering the ship, grew thinner and thinner until one day he decided to come clean.   
  
“Look, kiddos,” he sighed one evening during a call, while Ford hid in the bedroom. “I can’t keep lyin’ to ya like this.”   
  
“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked softly, her brow creased in concern. “What’s wrong with Grunkle Ford? Why has he been avoiding us?”   
  
Stan took a deep breath. “I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with him since he never told me while he had the chance too.”   
  
“What do you mean, ‘the chance to’?” Dipper interjected. 

“He can’t speak,” Stan replied softly. “Anything he tries to say comes out really slurred and mumbled and I can barely understand it. He can’t even hold onto a pen by this point, either, so he can’t write anything down.”   
  
“He can’t hold a pen?”   
  
“He’s… I don’t know why, but for some reason, his body has gone really weak. He can’t eat properly, can’t move, can’t talk and can’t hold onto anything,” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “I found a notebook he’s been keeping hidden. It’s full of possible diagnoses for the symptoms and most of them are scribbled out, so I guess Ford doesn’t know what’s going on either.”   
  
“Why didn’t Great Uncle Ford tell you anything?” Dipper frowned. “Surely he would have told you as soon as he thought something was wrong.”   
  
“Well, he didn’t,” Stan sighed. “Ford’s stubborn and I suppose he thinks that he can just keep going and everything will work out. Unfortunately, it hasn’t.”   
  
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Mabel asked. “Like send a care package or something? Or arrange for you guys to see a doctor?”   
  
“We’re a good week’s distance away from the shore at the moment,” Stan said. “Even if we turned the boat around now, we wouldn’t get to a port until next Thursday, and even then the port would be somewhere in southern California.”   
  
“Well, Piedmont isn’t far from the sea,” Dipper said. “There’s a port in Emeryville where you could keep the boat and there’s Kaiser hospital on the opposite side of Piedmont.”   
  
Stan grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. “Roll those by me again kiddo.”   
  
Dipper read out the addresses of both locations again, Stan scribbling them down on the paper. “Thanks, Dipper.”   
  
“Is Grunkle Ford gonna be okay?” Mabel asked quietly. “Will he be able to get help from the hospital?”   
  
“I sure hope so, pumpkin,” Stan sighed. “Look, it’s getting late. I’m surprised you two haven’t been made to go to bed yet.”   
  
“Oh, we have,” Dipper grinned. “We’re just being really quiet.”   
  
Stan rolled his eyes. “Go on, go to bed you little gremlins. I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay?”   
  
“Alright. Look after Great Uncle Ford, and tell him we said hi, okay?”

“Will do,” Stan nodded with a grin. “G’night!”   
  
“Night!” both kids chirped before the call ended. Stan shut the laptop down and left it to charge before going to check on his brother.    
  
Ford was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. He scowled at Stan as he entered the room. “Y-you… shln’t...told mm…” he mumbled, his voice like molasses as it dribbled from his mouth.

Stan sighed, sitting down on the bed beside his brother. “Look, Ford. You can’t keep hiding it anymore. I’ve known for weeks that something’s been wrong with you. You think the guy you’re stuck on a boat with wouldn’t notice?”

Ford’s scowl faded and he looked away. “D-dn’t waant y-you...knowin…”   
  
“Ford…” Stan shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “I wish you’d told me sooner. Look, I’m going to turn the boat around first thing in the morning and get us over to Emeryville in California, okay? That’s one of the nearest ports to where we are at the moment, and it’s pretty close to where the kids live.”

Ford nodded with a quiet sigh, leaning his weight against his brother. He managed to lift his arm up to rest it on Stan’s waist, his fingers curling into the hem of Stan’s shirt to keep his arm from falling. He laid his head on Stan’s shoulder and shut his eyes.

Stan rubbed Ford’s back gently. “It’s gonna be okay, Poindexter. We’ll get you to a hospital and they’ll find out what’s wrong and get you some help, okay?”   
  
Ford nodded slowly, mumbling something softly that sounded vaguely like “what if they can’t fix it?”   
  
“They’re going to help you, Ford, I promise,” Stan murmured, holding Ford close to him in a tight hug. He couldn’t help the pang of nausea that filled his stomach as he realised that Ford was struggling to hug him in return. He carefully lifted up Ford’s arms, laying them around his neck and hugging Ford around the waist. Ford buried his face in the crook of Stan’s neck with a quiet sigh.    
  
“It’ll be okay, Ford,” Stan murmured softly, rubbing Ford’s back as his brother’s shoulders began to shake. “You’re gonna be okay.”

 

00000

 

The next day, while Ford was still snoozing, Stan got up from his bed early, getting himself dressed and grabbing some breakfast before going up onto the deck, turning the boat around so that they were heading for California. The morning air was cool and crisp, a refreshing break from the stuffiness of the cabin he’d spent the last twelve hours inside. He had always liked coming up on deck first thing in the morning before it got too hot or too dry for him to enjoy. 

As Stan climbed up to the wheel, he slipped his red beanie off and let the wind flow through his hair. It was liberating. He stood with his arms out at his sides, letting the air swirl around him. Taking a few deep breaths, Stanley let his eyes slide shut and allowed himself a few moments of bliss. He breathed in the fresh sea air deeply and opened his eyes, gazing at the reflections of the sunlight dancing across the waves on the surface of the ocean. At one point, he heard something in the cabin below him fall and hit the wooden floor, but it sounded far too quiet to have been his brother. It sounded like a book had just fallen off a shelf or something.

He eventually snapped himself out of his trance and grasped the wheel in both hands, adjusting their bearing so that they were heading right back towards the mainland. He checked their coordinates against the coordinates of the port they were headed for and, once he was convinced that they were accurate, locked the wheel into place and headed back down into the cabin.   
  
“Ford?” Stan called out. He had heard no movement from his brother, aside from the thud a few minutes ago. He couldn’t see his brother sitting at the table, and there was no noise from the bathroom, so Stan assumed he must still be in bed. “Hey Stanford, are you up yet?”   
  
There was a quiet mumble from the bedroom, along with the faint sound of what seemed like crying. Frowning in confusion, Stan headed across to their bedroom door, pushing it open. “Hey, Ford, are you al-...”   
  
His words died on his tongue as he took in the sight of his brother. Ford was lying on his back on the floor in between the two beds. The blankets from the bed were loosely tangled around his left leg and it was clear that Ford had fallen out of bed. His hair was a wild mess and his eyes were red, his cheeks stained with tears. Ford was barely able to lift his head off the ground to look at his brother, a few quiet sobs bubbling from his lips. Stan’s nose wrinkled at the smell of ammonia lingering in the air. His eyes drifted down his brother’s body, wondering what could possibly have been wrong. They came to rest on a large, dark patch over Ford’s crotch and thighs. 

_ Oh, Ford… _

Ford whimpered and began to sob a little more, his face burning with embarrassment. He let his head rest back down on the wooden surface, his whole body feeling filthy and disgusting. He heard his brother leave the room and only began to sob more. Stan had left him lying there in his own mess because he was too disgusted by his brother to help him. Was Stan going to throw him overboard? Leave him in a nursing home? Let him rot somewhere?   
  
Before he could think about what other terrible things his brother might do with him, Ford heard Stan return and lifted his head to look, seeing a roll of kitchen paper in his hand. Stan knelt down by his brother’s feet, beginning to mop up what he could. Ford could see the disgust etched in Stan’s features and whimpered softly, turning his head away. He could barely move his arms enough to take hold of the kitchen roll and clean himself up. He tried to lift a hand up, but Stan gently pushed it back down again.    
  
“Come on,” Stan said softly, setting the used kitchen paper aside. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”   
  
Ford frowned in confusion as to how Stan was going to attempt to clean him up when he was still lying in the middle of the floor in the bedroom. Stan slipped one arm under Ford’s back and the other under the backs of Ford’s knees. He shifted his twin’s weight into his arms and lifted him off the floor. The younger twin couldn’t help but cringe at both the smell and the sensation of Ford’s wet pyjamas on his bare arms but said nothing of it as he carried his twin into the bathroom. He set Ford down just beside the shower and worked on removing Ford’s nightshirt. Ford looked away and shut his eyes tightly as the cleaner of the two garments he was wearing was removed. He heard a faint gasp escape his brother’s lips as Stan took in the sight of Ford’s torso.

Ford’s chest was painted with an array of scars. From his neck down to the waistband of his pyjama pants, his skin was battered, cut, burned and wrinkled. Three large, deep indentations ran across the centre of Ford’s chest, from his left shoulder to the bottom right corner of his ribcage. The indentations were perhaps between a third and half an inch in depth and looked to be over two decades old. The skin surrounding the marks was rough and calloused, showing that the cuts, when they had been made, were not made in a smooth movement. Atop Ford’s right shoulder were two curves of smaller dents, opposite each other and forming a vaguely-circular outline of a set of jaws. Towards the centre of the ring, the dents became shallower and the skin looked as though it had been scratched, indicating that whatever had bitten Ford had attempted to drag him, only for its teeth to come loose. Several other similar markings covered Ford’s stomach and, when Stan looked, his back as well.   
  
It wasn’t just cuts and bites covering Ford’s body. His left hip had what looked like a crater on it; there was a pit in the centre, the skin surrounding it raised in odd markings like a crop circle or the clouds of a hurricane. It looked fairly old, at least fifteen years, but looked as though it would have caused tremendous amounts of pain when it was formed. There was a similar mark on Ford’s left forearm, though it seemed that whatever form of projectile had caused it seemed to have cut through the edge of his arm rather than make a direct hit, as there was a clear dent in Ford’s arm in a hemispherical shape. Some patches of Ford’s stomach and back, particularly around his spine, were covered in skin that was pale and waxy in comparison to the rest. The skin surrounding these patches was red and glistened in the light. Some patches seemed to be all one area, while others were sprayed across the surface as if something had spat at him. There were a couple of faded tattoos amongst the scarring, one on his right collarbone depicting the demon that had tormented him for so long, but Stan couldn’t care less about them at the moment.    
  
Ford whimpered softly again and Stan faded back into the present, lifting a hand to brush Ford’s hair from his eyes. “It’s okay, Ford. I’m gonna get you all cleaned up, okay?” He moved both hands down to Ford’s waist, beginning to pull the soaked pyjama pants from his hips.

Ford squirmed and whined in protest, bringing his knees up and trying to wriggle away from his brother’s hands, his own pushing feebly against his brother. The elder twin shook his head, his face a deep scarlet colour.    
  
“Ford, c’mon, you need to get these things off you,” Stan said softly. “I won’t touch you too much, okay?”   
  
Ford squirmed a little more and shook his head more furiously, curling up in on himself with a mumble that sounded vaguely like “I don’t want you to see anything.”

Stan sighed. “Look, this isn’t ideal for me either, but you stink and you need to get out of these clothes, okay? I need you to let me get you undressed.”   
  
Reluctantly, Ford slowly uncurled himself with a quiet sigh. He shut his eyes as Stan pulled the soaked pyjama pants off his hips, legs and then his feet, tossing them aside for the time being. The dampness of Ford’s skin suddenly made him freezing cold once the clothes were removed and he shivered slightly. Stan moved and stood up, turning the shower on and slipping his own shirt off before gently lifting Ford into the shower, setting him down against the wall and tucking his legs in. The warm water was an instant relief to Ford’s cold, dirty skin and he sighed quietly.   
  
Stan grabbed a sponge from nearby and the bottle of shower gel, pouring a generous amount onto the sponge before starting to scrub his brother clean. He took his time, being careful to get every part of his brother clean and taking more care around Ford’s privates, averting his eyes as much as possible. Ford’s whole body seemed tense, the older twin shivering and twitching whenever Stan’s hands got a little too close. His face burned with an embarrassed blush, something that had been present on his cheeks since his accident.   
  
After what seemed like far too long, Stan grabbed the shower head and rinsed his brother off. He made sure to thoroughly rinse Ford’s lower body and his hair before replacing the shower head to its stand and switching off the water. He grabbed a towel and began to dry Ford off, laying a towel over Ford’s crotch to give him what little privacy he could and preserve any remaining dignity. He made sure that Ford was completely dry before picking up the dirty clothes and leaving the room to retrieve some clean ones, avoiding the lingering mess on the floor. The room still smelled of ammonia, Stan yet again wrinkling his nose at the stench. He placed the dirty clothes into the metal tub they used for washing up. He grabbed some clean underwear, socks, pants, a vest and a sweater for his brother before returning to where Ford lay naked in the bathroom.

“Ford?” Stan asked softly, noticing that his brother seemed to have slipped into a doze against the shower door.    
  
Ford’s eyes flickered left and right quickly below his eyelids, a bit of saliva dribbling from the corner of his lips. Stan grabbed the corner of the towel around Ford’s shoulders to wipe it away. At the touch, Ford’s eyes opened slowly and Stan immediately felt sick. 

Ford’s eyes were bloodshot and full of tears, some of which steadily made their way down ford’s cheeks as they were released. Ford’s eyes looked glazed over, his pupils far too dilated given the intensity of light in the room. They kept flickering from left to right and back again very quickly as if trying to chase an energetic insect across the room, or watching a tennis match at four times the speed. Stan placed his hand on his brother’s forehead, taking a quick analysis of his temperature. Ford felt too cold. Quickly, Stan grabbed the vest and sweater from the pile of clothing and got his brother dressed in them, before moving down to cover Ford’s lower body.    
  
By the time Stan was finished covering his brother up again, Ford was gazing at him, his eyes no longer as glazed over or flickering about. Now, Ford’s eyes were filled with shame and a deep sadness Stan felt was horribly familiar. It reminded him of the way his brother looked after coming home from a thorough beating from his childhood bullies. It was the same look Ford had had in his eyes the day he’d tried to remove his extra finger or had been caught drinking some of their father’s scotch while their parents were out. It was the same look Ford had the first time he’d agreed with the bullies. The first time Ford had called himself a freak.

“Ford…?” Stan asked softly.

Ford gave a quiet sniffle before blinking a few times, clearing his eyes of tears and sending them dripping down his cheeks. “...s-sorry…”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Stan gently murmured, moving closer to his brother and wrapping an arm around him. He brushed Ford’s damp hair out of his face. “It’s okay, Ford. You couldn’t help it.”   
  
Ford sniffled again and looked away, a blush creeping back onto his cheeks. “I..cllld…” he mumbled, flinching at the tremor and hesitation in his own voice as if struggling to carefully pick his words. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling a few more solitary tears drip down his face and onto the front of his sweater.   
  
Stan brought his thumb over to wipe them away, a frown on his face. “It’ll be okay, Poindexter. I’ve turned the boat around and I’m going to get you to a hospital, alright?”

Ford nodded slowly, gently moving to lean against his brother. Stan held him close, running his fingers through Ford’s hair softly. He shifted his brother up into his arms again and lifted him up, carrying him out of the bathroom and laying him down on one of the seats at the table in the kitchen. Ford curled up in the seat, laying his head against the cool glass of the window beside him. Stan lay a blanket over his brother’s shoulders before going to raid one of the cupboards for some cleaning supplies. He gathered up bleach, disinfectant, washcloths, a shallow washing up bowl and some rubber gloves. He filled the bowl to the halfway point with water from the tap before heading back into their bedroom to clean up. 

The floor in the bedroom still reeked of ammonia, though it had somewhat faded since Ford’s accident. Sighing, Stan set the cleaning equipment down and knelt on the floor before starting to scrub the floor. The wood was darkened slightly in one patch in the middle of the floor and Stan had a slight concern that it may rot and disintegrate over time if it had managed to seep through the varnish. He sighed and continued to scrub the floor clean, thanking his past self for not putting carpets down in the bedroom. As he cleaned, the smell of ammonia was gradually replaced with the smell of bleach and disinfectant and before long Stan felt satisfied that he’d cleaned up as much as possible. He cleared away the cleaning supplies and made sure the floor in the bedroom was dried before going to check on Ford.

Ford looked as though he’d dozed off again, lying with his eyes closed against the window beside him, curled up in the blankets like a cocoon. Stan felt a small smile grace his lips as he took into account how relaxed his brother seemed. He ran a hand through Ford’s hair before going to fix his brother something to eat. He decided on beans on toast - something that was soft enough for his brother to eat with minimal chewing. 

The smell of breakfast filling his nostrils woke Ford up a few minutes later, his eyes immediately catching sight of Stan placing a plate of beans on toast in front of him, along with a fork. Stan also set down a cup of coffee before sitting opposite his brother at the table. Slowly, Ford uncurled himself and sat properly before reaching out a shaking hand to grasp the fork. The fork slipped through his fingers a couple of times, each failed attempt resulting in a frustrated huff from Ford. 

Stan sighed and reached his hand over the table, grabbing the fork and using it to scoop up a few beans. “C’mere, you’ll spill them all down yourself if you’re not careful.”   
  
Ford blushed and pouted, feeling his stomach churn in shame as it quickly became apparent to him that he was losing the ability to take care of himself. He sighed and opened his mouth, allowing his brother to place the forkful of beans into it. Ford closed his lips around the fork and pulled the food off before beginning to chew slowly and deliberately. He swallowed, which took some effort, before opening his mouth for a second forkful. Stan continued to feed him through the small meal, the younger twin’s concern only growing the more he watched his brother struggle to eat. He sighed quietly. Occasionally throughout the meal, Ford would eye the cup of coffee and mumble something. Stan would hold the rim of the mug to his brother’s mouth and tip it gently so that Ford could drink without burning himself. 

The pair eventually cleared the plate and Stan rose from the table to put the dirty dishes into the sink. He heard his brother whimper behind him and turned around. Ford had fresh tears trickling down his face and his shoulders were shaking, a couple of quiet sobs escaping his lips every few seconds. Stan immediately set the dirty plate and mug down and went over to his brother, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Ford only started to sob more, burying his face into Stan’s neck. Carefully, Stan moved his brother over and slipped into the seat next to him, cradling Ford close. Ford continued to cry softly into his brother’s shoulder, his numb fingers grasping lightly at Stan’s clothes in an attempt to keep him close.    
  
“Oh, Ford…” Stan murmured softly, running his hand through Ford’s hair. “It’ll be okay, I promise…”

At this, Ford let out a louder wail and buried his face further into Stan’s neck, prompting his twin to hold him closer. Stan sat for as long as his brother needed, reassuring him that things were going to be fine and that Ford would be back to his old self in no time.

Except Stan wasn’t so sure himself.


	5. Lichtenberg figures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan finds strange markings all over his brother's body, previously indistinguishable amongst the other scars. After a bit of research, Stan finds just what happened to Ford in order to cause these scars ... and his deteriorating symptoms.

Ford spent a lot of time sleeping over the following week. Some days, he wouldn’t even ask his brother to help him out of bed, choosing to lie there on his back, gazing emptily up at the ceiling. It was hardly as if he could do anything else by this point; his body was growing more and more numb by the day, making it impossible for him to move on his own. Stanley made sure to check on him every hour, and every two hours during the night. Almost every time Stan woke to check on Ford, his brother was sleeping. He told himself that it was just a natural result of the symptoms he was having, combined with the fact that spending so long in bed doing nothing tended to increase a person’s fatigue. 

On the rare occasion where Ford was awake when Stak woke up, Stan made sure to help Ford with anything he needed. Be it being hungry, thirsty or needing a shower or the bathroom, Stan helped his brother get himself sorted out. Ford was horribly embarrassed to have to ask for such things from Stan, despite his brother assuring him over and over again that it was fine and that he didn’t mind. Ford couldn’t help but feel mortified, though.    
  
Dipper and Mabel were still calling their grunkles at least every two days. The first time they called after Ford’s accident, Ford was asleep in bed. Stan was at the small kitchen table alone, chatting with the kids over Skype. Neither of the kids seemed to question Ford being the one to sleep in, even though it was usually Stan who was the lazy one. Stan used a simple guise of telling them that Ford was still ill to brush off the fact that the reason Ford was still in bed was that he was pretty much entirely incapable of getting  _ out  _ of it. The kids seemed to accept the excuse, not mentioning it again for the rest of the call. 

In truth, Ford was very much awake. He could vaguely hear his brother’s voice from behind the closed bedroom door, but it wasn’t audible enough for him to make out what Stan was talking about. He could hear Dipper’ and Mabel’s voices as well, though they were even more difficult to make out. For the majority of the call, it was Mabel doing the talking, her chipper voice making Ford’s stomach churn in regret. He hated that he couldn’t be out there to talk to her, to laugh and share jokes and stories with the kids. He desperately wished that he could talk to them, but he knew that any sort of dialogue he tried to put out would only come out in a slurred mumble of vague noises.

Ford let a quiet sigh escape his lips as he continued to gaze up at the ceiling. He was getting hungry but refused to try and get Stan’s attention while he was talking to the kids. It’d mean tearing Stan’s attention away from their niece and nephew, two people who were far more important than himself. Ford knew that the kids missed them terribly and wished that they could be on board with their Grunkles, and tearing Stan’s attention away from them for Ford’s own needs would interrupt what little time Stan had with the kids anyway. 

Ford heard Stan end the call about half an hour later, shutting the laptop before rising from the table. The older twin heard his brother’s footsteps before the door creaked open, Stan’s face appearing in the doorway. “How you doing, Ford?”   
  
Ford gave a slight shrug at that, unsure of how to react. Stan walked over to him, perching beside Ford’s waist on the bed. “Need anything?”   
  
Ford nodded a little bit, the simple action making him dizzy. Stan ran a hand through Ford’s hair. “What is it? Food? A drink? The bathroom? A shower?”   
  
Ford frowned in thought for a moment. He parted his dried, parched lips. “F-food...a-and a shower…”   
  
“Alright,” Stan nodded, pulling the covers back off his brother. Ford couldn’t help but curl up just a little bit. Stan had already showered him before, but it still made him uncomfortable any time he wasn’t completely covered. 

“Easy there, Poindexter,” Stan said softly, slipping an arm underneath Ford’s legs and another under his back. He lifted his brother up carefully, Ford’s body slumping weakly against his own. Stan did his best to reassure his twin as he carried Ford into the bathroom. Ford could just about manage to wrap his arms around his brother’s neck, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. Stan gently set him down beside the shower, slipping Ford’s sweater off and removing his socks and pants. As Stan went to take Ford’s underwear off, Ford whined in protest and attempted to curl up tightly.    
  
“Ford…” Stan sighed, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, you wanted me to get you cleaned up, right?”   
  
Ford swallowed hard and nodded. “Y-yeah… b-but...d-don’t want y-you seein’...”

“Oh, Ford.” Stan ran a hand through Ford’s greasy hair. “I know, but I’ve done this before. I know you hate me seeing and trust me it ain’t something I like doing, but neither of us has a choice. You can’t even stand up on your own anymore, let alone get cleaned up by yourself.”   
  
Ford squirmed and frowned a bit more, averting his gaze. Hesitantly, he let his body relax and moved his legs away from his chest. Stan gently slipped Ford’s underwear off before turning on the shower. He set the temperature before helping Ford into the shower and under the flow of water. Ford ended up leaning helplessly against the shower wall as his brother washed him. As Stan cleaned his brother up, he could faintly see small, spiderweb-like markings running over Ford’s skin. They started at the scarring around Ford’s wrists, travelling up his arms and spreading out across his collarbones and shoulder blades. They were only a slightly darker pink than the rest of Ford’s skin and, amongst the numerous other scars over Ford’s body, they were virtually invisible. Stan hadn’t noticed these before when he’d washed Ford up previously. He frowned in confusion, but Ford’s quiet whine of being left naked and soaking wet brought Stan’s attention back to the task at hand.

Ford flinched a little whenever Stan’s hands got a bit too close to his waist for comfort. Stan apologised, doing what he could to avoid touching Ford so much. He rinsed his brother off and turned the shower off before grabbing a towel, bundling Ford up into it. Ford shifted a bit in order to allow Stan to dry him off. Stan got Ford dressed into some clean clothes and, after helping Ford with the bathroom, carried his brother back to bed. 

The simple process of getting cleaned up left Ford tired again. Stan got him bundled up in the blankets on the bed and made sure he was comfortable. “You want something to eat Sixer?”   
  
Ford couldn’t help the way his whole body gave an involuntary jerk at that nickname. For a split second, his eyes went wide in panic and he could hear Bill’s familiar, high-pitched laughter echoing through his skull.    
  
_ “You want another one there Fordsy?!” _ __  
__  
_ “P-please...stop…” _ __  
__  
_ “You heard him, fellas! Get me another knife! The guy’s stomach is still not full!” _ __  
__  
Stan frowned as he noticed the sudden sharp turn in his brother’s composure. “Ford? You okay buddy…?”   
  
“...d-don’t c-call m-me...S-Sixer…”   
  
Stan’s frown deepened and he gently placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Why not…?”   
  
“...H- __ he  c-c-called me th-that…”

“He? Wait, you mean Bill?” Ford let out a whine and tried to bury himself into his blankets at the sound of the demon’s name. Stan immediately apologized. “Shit, sorry…”   
  
Ford swallowed hard, his eyes still screwed tightly shut. “I-it’s okay…”   
  
Stan frowned, passing his hand through his brother’s hair. “I’m sorry, Ford. I really am. Look, I won’t say his name ever again, okay? I promise.”   
  
Ford let out a quiet sigh and nodded, gently relaxing. Stan ruffled Ford’s hair lightly before getting up. “I’m just gonna go get you something to eat, okay bud? You want some coffee too?”   
  
“Y-yes...p-please…” Ford mumbled quietly, nodding. He flinched at the weak tremor in his voice. He noticed the worry on Stan’s face as his twin left the room to get something for him to eat.    
  
While Stan was gone, Ford lay flat on his back in bed, gazing emptily up at the ceiling. He still had the horrible tingling in his arms and legs, as if his limbs were struggling to recover from a severe case of pins and needles. He could hardly move his feet or his hands, each appendage feeling like a lead weight. He let out a quiet whimper as he lay there. 

Stan was doing all he could to try and help Ford. He’d wake up periodically during the night to check on his brother, sacrificing his own rest to make sure that Ford was sorted out if he needed a drink or to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It was no secret just how worried Stan was about his twin. The concern was etched on Stan’s face from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep, despite his best efforts to hide it. He kept the façade up for Ford’s sake, but Ford was smarter than that. He noticed the way his brother’s eyes filled with sadness whenever he saw Ford struggle to move or talk. He saw the way Stan’s smile fell just a little whenever he was helping his brother in and out of bed. He heard it in his brother’s voice whenever the kids asked how Ford was doing. Ford knew just how this was affecting Stan, and he knew that it was all his fault. 

If he told Stan this - if he was even  _ able  _ to, what with the way his words were slurred - Ford knew that Stan would deny it all. Stan would deny the fact that he was close to tears whenever Ford struggled to do anything. He’d deny the fact that he was losing sleep in favour of making sure Ford was okay. He’d deny the fact that he was miserable when talking to the kids with Ford out of the room. He’d promise Ford that he wasn’t a burden and that there was honestly nothing he’d rather be doing than helping his twin. He’d assure Ford time and time again that he was  _ happy  _ out here, even though his brother was slowly losing the ability to move.    
  
But Ford knew better.    
  
He knew that, deep down, Stan  _ was  _ miserable. He had to be. It had been their dream ever since they were kids to take a boat and sail around the world together. Now they were finally living that dream, except Ford was becoming more and more paralysed each day. Stan had waited his whole life for this experience and now Ford was ruining it for both of them. A small part of Ford knew that this wasn’t his fault, that he had no control over his body shutting down, but he still felt absolutely overwhelmed with guilt as he thought about all the opportunities and adventures his brother was missing out on. 

Ford was interrupted from his thoughts by his brother returning with a cup of coffee for him, along with a bowl of pasta. He set the coffee mug and bowl down on the bedside table before helping Ford to sit up a little, so that he wouldn’t choke as he ate. He grabbed the bowl and the fork and scooped up a little bit of pasta, holding it near his brother’s mouth. Ford parted his lips and Stan fed him, the pair staying silent save for the gentle clink of the fork against the sides of the bowl. Stan set the bowl down and gave Ford small sips of coffee every few moments. The younger twin watched as his brother gradually relaxed, becoming a little bit more comfortable with Stan’s actions. 

“Atta boy…” Stan murmured softly, grinning once his brother had finished the lot. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped his brother’s mouth clean. Ford frowned and pouted at the action and acted as though he would jerk his head away in protest, but eventually gave up and let his brother clean him. 

“...th-thanks…” Ford mumbled with a faint smile on his lips. 

Stan’s smile grew warmer at the sight of his twin looking somewhat happy. He ruffled Ford’s hair gently. “No problem, bro. You know I don’t mind helping you.”   
  
Ford blushed a little and nodded, his expression somewhat sheepish. Stan gave him a final grin before going to clear away the dirty dishes. Once the younger twin had left the room, Ford’s smile immediately dropped and he was consumed by the feeling of inadequacy once more. He turned his head away from the door, managing to bury half of it in the pillow he was laying on. 

In all honesty, he was surprised that Stan was putting up with this. It was clear that Ford was getting more and more helpless each day, yet Stan still persisted to help him in whatever way he required. After all that Ford had done to his brother, after the way he’d  _ treated  _ Stan, Ford was quite frankly surprised that Stan hadn’t tossed him overboard, or left him in some remote location alone while he continued to sail the world without him. Neither of them had even come up with a  _ reason  _ as to why Ford’s body was behaving this way, let alone come up with any kind of cure. It seemed more and more hopeless with each passing hour. Maybe Ford really was a lost cause?

 

\----

  
  
That night, long after Ford had fallen asleep, Stan sat on the edge of his own bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. Ford seemed peaceful. His face was relaxed, his lips parted slightly with a tiny drop of saliva trickling onto the pillow below his mouth. He even looked as though he was smiling, slightly. His hair was drooped over his eyes and his wavy grey bangs shifted slightly every time Ford exhaled. He looked completely relaxed for the first time in days. 

Stan let out a quiet sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He really had no idea what was going on with his brother. He’d done as much research as he was able to with their patchy Internet connection and what he’d brought up had yielded no results with his brother. The possibility of onset Parkinson’s disease had been ruled out when Ford had been completely unable to talk or move. Patients diagnosed with Parkinson’s typically saw their symptoms develop over a long period of time - say, months or years. Ford’s symptoms had deteriorated within  _ days,  _ much too fast for the symptoms to be those of Parkinson’s. Sure, the trembling and slurred speech were symptoms of such a condition, but they had simply become too bad too quickly for Parkinson’s to be the cause. There was also the developing paralysis, which both twins knew wasn’t a symptom of Parkinson’s. It ruled out that condition as a diagnosis of Ford’s symptoms and somewhat narrowed the ballpark. 

Stan thought back to the strange, branching marks he’d seen littering his brother’s skin. They had looked far too intricate to have come from anything Ford had been attacked by while he was in the Portal. They hadn’t been scratches or claw marks - there were far too many of them and they were too ornate and symmetrical. They didn’t look like chemical or venom burns - those came in darker red splotches of smooth, waxy skin and certainly could not have been as symmetrical as Ford’s scarring was. They definitely weren’t from fire, or from being rubbed raw by ropes, or from being shot at, so those causes were all ruled out. If it hadn’t been any of those, then what  _ could  _ those markings have been caused by?   
  
Humming in thought, Stan slipped off the bed and quietly padded out of the room, making sure not to make enough noise to rouse his twin from his slumber. He crept out of the room and headed to where their laptops lay on the small table in the kitchen area. He picked up his own laptop and fired it up, making sure that the Internet connection was working properly. He did a quick search of the markings across Ford’s body, hoping to find something even remotely useful.    
  
After a few minutes of nothing, he came across something that looked  _ exactly  _ like the markings spread across Ford’s arms. He double-clicked on the article, only really skim-reading it to filter for the information he wanted.    
  
‘Lichtenberg figures’, they were called. Caused by contact with high-voltage electricity, such as lightning, making the capillaries below the skin burn and create dark red branching patterns across the surface of the victim’s body, spreading out from the point of impact. The burns left permanent scars. The severity of the injuries and the resulting scarring depended on the voltage of the electricity. More severe shocks - like being hit by a bolt of lightning - caused far worse damage than other sources. Judging by the related images of such markings on humans, Stan was able to tell that Ford’s markings were thankfully caused by a much lower voltage of electricity than other examples attached to the article. 

Now that Stan had a reason for Ford’s scars, he decided to look at the symptoms involved with being hit by a strong electric current. He nearly cried out as he read the symptoms that came with such an attack. Headaches, nausea, stammering and stumbling over words, inability to process information - leading to confusion or slurred speech, stiff joints and, most importantly,  _ paralysis.  _ These were exactly the symptoms that Ford was displaying and, combined with the scarring across his body, Stan concluded that there was enough evidence to prove that his twin had been hit with a strong electric current. He had no idea when or from where, but right now all that Stan cared about was the fact that they were actually  _ getting somewhere  _ with diagnosing what was wrong with his twin. 

Letting out a quiet sigh of relief at having at least found  _ something,  _ even if that something meant that the pain Ford must have gone through to get such scars would have been tremendous, Stan shut the laptop down and left it on the table, quickly scribbling down a couple of notes into Ford’s notebook. He rose from the table and stretched. He let out a yawn before heading back to bed. If there was one thing the insomnia was good for, it was the fact that he could keep a better eye on his twin, and get a bit of research done in the meantime.    
  
When Stan opened the door to the bedroom once more, he was met with the sight of Ford squinting at him in the pale moonlight streaming through the small window. “Oh, sorry bud, did I wake you up?” Stan asked softly as he took a seat on his bed.    
  
Ford shook his head slowly and fidgeted in bed a little bit. “..n-no…”   
  
“Alright, if you say so. Anything you need?”   
  
“B-bathr-room…” Ford mumbled, and even in the low light, Stan could tell his brother had turned scarlet.    
  
“Okay bud, c’mon, let’s get you up.” Stan stood up and gently pulled the blankets off his twin. Carefully, Stan shifted Ford’s weight into his arms and picked him up bridal-style. It felt a little awkward for both of them, for Ford to be carried this way, but it was the easiest way of doing it and it made sure Stan didn’t throw his back out carrying his brother around. He carried Ford into the bathroom and got him sorted out, returning Ford to his bed once he was done.

Ford was a blushing mess once back in bed, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. He mumbled something incoherent, but Stan guessed it must have been an apology of some sort.    
  
“Hey, Ford, it’s okay, I promise. You can’t get up on your own and I ain’t gonna leave you to mess the bed, am I?”   
  
Ford frowned a little and shook his head, somewhat un-burying himself from the pillow. Stan gave him a gentle smile and ruffled his hair lightly. “‘Sides, you’d do the same for me if I was the one in your position, right?”   
  
“C-couldn’t ...c-ca...carry you…” Ford mumbled, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “T-too….fat…”   
  
Stan couldn’t help but laugh at that. He gave Ford a light shove, managing to get a giggle out of his twin. “Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour, then, Ford,” Stan chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Even if you’re back at it again with the fat jokes.”   
  
Ford giggled quietly again and smiled up at his brother. “G-g’nigh...Stan…”   
  
“‘Night, Ford,” Stan chuckled as he made sure that Ford was tucked back into bed. He climbed into his own bed and flopped down onto the pillow. By the time Ford’s snores filled the room once more, Stan had already drifted off. 

 

\----

 

The next morning, over breakfast, Stan looked over the notes he had written last night. He flicked through the pages as he sipped his coffee, the gears in his brain whirring away as he thought. He had a diagnosis, he had the symptoms, he just didn’t know  _ where  _ this had come from. He knew that it would be difficult getting any answers out of his brother. Not just due to Ford’s deteriorating speech impediment, but because he knew that Ford would be so stubborn as to keep the answers from him. He knew that Ford wouldn’t want his brother to know what he went through, and quite frankly Stan couldn’t blame him. Just the thought of what must have happened to his twin to leave such awful scarring made Stan feel sick. He just had to try and see what Ford would be willing to tell him, and just how much he’d be able to. 

Downing the rest of his coffee, Stan grabbed the notebook and got up from the table. He knocked on the bedroom door. “Ford?”

There was a faint mumble in response and Stan opened the door, finding Ford still blinking the sleep from his eyes. He yawned a little as Stan took a seat at the edge of his bed. The younger twin helped Ford sit up a bit more in bed, using some of the spare pillows to support him. Once Ford was comfortable, he gave his brother a quizzical look. 

Stan took a few deep breaths, fumbling over the words in his head as he tried to find a way of wording what he was about to say. “So, er, Ford… y-y’know those weird marks all over your arms? The, er… like the spider-web-y ones?”

Ford frowned and glanced at his wrists, which were currently lying limp in his lap. Stan gently took hold of Ford’s hand in one of his own, using his other hand to pull Ford’s sleeve up to the elbow. He used a fingertip to delicately trace over the marks. “These… these ones. They’re Lichtenberg figures, right?”   
  
Ford swallowed weakly and nodded as much as he was able to, his teeth brushing over his lower lip in mild concern. Stan took another deep breath and continued. “They’re caused by electric currents, right? L-like a lightning strike…?”   
  
Again, Ford nodded, his eyes beginning to well up with tears. He was trembling slightly now and    
Stan realised that he couldn’t tell whether or not it was due to the symptoms of Ford’s condition. 

“Well, I - I looked up what sort of symptoms come from being hit by an electric current like that, and, well… paralysis and slurred speech are both symptoms of that.”   
  
Ford seemed to turn rather pale, his forehead now glistening with a few beads of sweat. Stan’s eyes went wide as he realised that his brother was now fighting off tears. He quickly wrapped his arms around his twin and held him close. “Hey, Ford, it’s okay. We’re not far from the mainland, now, and as soon as we get there we’re getting you to a hospital, okay? We’ll get this treated for you, okay?”   
  
Ford simply let out a long, low whine and buried his face into his brother’s shoulder. Stan cradled him close with both arms, rocking his brother gently in his arms. Before long, Ford was trembling more violently, his shoulders jerking unnaturally as quiet sobs bubbled from his lips. Stan just held his twin close to him as he comforted him in the best way he could, adjusting his brother’s position so that Ford could cry into his chest. Ford’s sobs only grew slightly muffled as his face was buried into the soft cotton of the nightshirt that Stan was still wearing. Stan rubbed Ford’s back in small circles with the palm of his hand, his free hand on the back of Ford’s head as he ran his fingers through his brother’s dishevelled hair.    


It seemed to take forever for Ford to wear himself out. He lay weakly against the larger frame of his brother, the occasional sniffle still escaping every now and then. Stanley gently brought his sleeve up to rub the tears from Ford’s eyes, murmuring soothing words into the older twin’s hair. Eventually, Ford went quiet, his breathing falling back into a slow, steady rhythm. Stan gave Ford’s shoulder a gentle pat before laying him back against the mound of pillows piled up at the head of his bunk. He tucked Ford back in. 

“You want a cup of coffee, Ford?”   
  
Ford gave another quiet sniffle and nodded. Stan smiled softly and got up, heading out into the kitchen to prepare his brother’s morning brew. As soon as Stan was gone from the room, Ford shut his eyes as tightly as he could. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt like the room was spinning. Everything had turned on its axes and he could barely tell up from down. He pushed himself further into the pillows and let out a soft whimper.    
  
Oh god,  _ why  _ did Stan have to bring  _ that  _ back up?! For a little while, Ford had managed to distract himself from just what had happened to him. He’d prioritised other things instead of his looming past. Things like making sure the ship was on course, or that his brother was eating and sleeping properly, or even just reading a book. The slightest little things were enough to keep Ford distracted from what had happened to him. Now, with his body shutting down on him and his ability to move, speak or even read dwindling, Ford was left with no choice but to remember and relive everything that had happened. He could still feel the screams in his throat as they ripped from his vocal chords, turning his face blue and drying his mouth out. He could still smell the acrid smoke coming from his burned, blackened flesh. He could still see the blood splattered all over the floor as he coughed up more and more of his internal organs after being fed another kind of horrible poison, while the antidote lay just inches out of his reach. It left Ford trembling in his bed as the screams and that awful high-pitched laughter echoed through his skull. 

He didn’t want his brother to know, but he had a horrible, sinking feeling that Stan would find out sooner rather than later. 


End file.
